


though we may be cowards

by eurydicees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Remus Lupin-centric, Repressed Memories, honestly canon isn't real this is my world jkr just lives in it, it's 47k of nostalgia and yearning but also anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydicees/pseuds/eurydicees
Summary: Before everything fell apart, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were friends. Then, decades later, Remus was back at Hogwarts and Sirius was on the run and all of their memories were the ghosts haunting the halls of the castle.In which Remus doesn't know how to let go, even when the hands holding him are bruising the soft skin at his throat. Love has always been a violent, secret thing.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 102





	1. prelude / upright wheel of fortune

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this entire work in three days, edited it in one. i just have a lot of feelings about remus lupin. all of the chapter titles are tarot cards that i thought fit with it. 
> 
> also shoutout to "Together? I Think So" by CrazieDasie on ffn.net which I read like three years ago and then last week couldn't stop thinking about because it was a bit of an inspiration here.

“Has he come to see you?” 

Remus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, his tongue the weight of a thousand memories. It wasn’t a lie, though, when he said, “No. He hasn’t.” 

Dumbledore watched him carefully, the same way he had always watched Remus-- with a kind of caution, as if he didn’t quite know who Remus was or who he was going to be. It had been the same way that he had looked at Sirius, and Peter, and James. Like he didn’t know how to tell which one of them was going to turn evil. All bets had been on Remus, but look how things had turned out, he thought bitterly. 

“Are you lying to me, Remus?” 

“No,” Remus said, and the word felt heavier than it had ever before. “Why would he?” 

“My good boy,” Dumbledore said, something cold in his voice, “to finish what he started.” 

“You think he wants to kill me.” 

Dumbledore shrugged. He touched his cheek absentmindedly, tapping gently. He never seemed to be all there, anymore, as if his mind was a thousand worlds away. For all Remus knew, it was. “I think he is a very dangerous man, and you know him best.” 

“Not anymore,” Remus said. It was the truth, but he still struggled to get the words out. “I haven’t known him since Halloween twelve years ago.” 

“He is the same man he always was. You just know the truth of it now.” 

Remus stared at him, a thousand comments drifting across his mind but none of them leaving his tongue. He had known Sirius, he was sure of it, he had to have known him. He had lived with Sirius for years, he knew the boy better than Sirius knew himself. He knew all of his secrets, all of his most intimate fears, the fucking taste of his lips-- Remus refused to believe that had been the same man as who he was now. There had been a time when he was innocent.

But, then again, Sirius had been a murderer longer than the two of them had been friends. It was cruel, how little time they got, but on the other hand-- perhaps it was for the best. The longer Remus had loved Sirius, the more memories he had to burn. 

“I knew him,” Remus said, trying to sound strong, but his voice cracked.

Dumbledore studied him, the scar running over his face, the hurt in his eyes, twelve years of aching in his words. “He hasn’t come to see you, no?” 

“He hasn’t,” Remus confirmed. 

Dumbledore nodded. His eyes had never been colder, the calculating look in the tightness of his lips never clearer. Remus had never known Dumbledore to be a cruel man, but he knew now. He might not be cruel to Remus, but there was a hungry look in his eyes that made Remus shiver. 

“I’d like to offer you a position,” Dumbledore said, the previous conversation appeared to have been forgotten, “at Hogwarts. Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.” 

Remus stared at him. This was the catch, the provision, the watchful eye. Dumbledore might have heard his words, but however truthful they were, he still didn’t trust him. Perhaps he never had. 

“No,” Remus said, but he already knew it was a fruitless effort.

“You’re looking for a job,” Dumbledore said, “and I am offering one. I suggest you take it.” 

Remus shook his head. He wet his lips, trying to think of a better excuse. “I’d only be a danger to the students. You know that.” 

“You went seven years as a student without hurting anyone. I am confident you could go a year more.” 

“It was a close seven years,” Remus said. “I’m not doing it again. It’s too risky.” 

“All of the provisions we made for you are still there.” Dumbledore, leaned back in his chair, eyes boring into Remus, as if he could see all of the fears there. Perhaps he could. “And Severus has kindly agreed to make you the Wolfsbane potion every month.” 

“Absolutely not,” Remus said, a bitter taste in his mouth. Severus must be gloating right now, thinking that Remus was so entirely at his mercy with the potion. However long ago their school days had been, Remus wouldn’t forget the hate in Severus’ glares from across the Great Hall. 

Dumbledore shook his head. “It’s time to put old prejudices behind you. Severus has been a loyal teacher for years now.” 

“I don’t care,” Remus said. “This isn’t about him.” 

“Remus, my friend, please. Take the job. It’ll give you a security you have not had before. We both know this.” 

They did. Remus hadn’t been able to hold a job in years, not with having to miss so many work days due to the moons and already being too unstable to work anyways. Hogwarts had been a fragile haven for seven years, and Remus didn’t doubt that it was the only place he would be able to keep a job. 

“Harry Potter is there now,” Dumbledore said. It was a last ditch effort, but he made it sound promising. “He looks just like his father, you know. With his mother’s eyes.” 

“James and Lily are dead,” Remus told him, voice hard. The war had broken all of the soft pieces in his heart. “Their son can’t replace them.” 

Dumbledore frowned. “That wasn’t what I was suggesting. I was merely reminding you that, should James and Lily have lived, you would have been an uncle to the boy. It’s time you at least met him, don’t you think?” 

Remus took a faltering breath. A shudder ran down his spine, and he could hear James in his ear, asking Sirius to be the boy’s godfather and then grinning at Remus, cracking another joke, telling him to be Sirius’ godfather, just in case. Little did any of them know. 

“He’s so alone,” Dumbledore said, words suddenly soft. “He has no parental figures. He needs a teacher, a real one.” 

“Didn’t the last two Defense professors die?” 

Dumbledore sighed. “The first died, but he was harboring Voldemort, and so it’s not fair to put that on anyone. And the second one only lost his memory. He’s at St. Mungo’s.” 

Only, Dumbledore said, and Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Is Sirius-- ” Remus coughed, almost choking on the name. “Will he go after the boy?” 

Dumbledore smiling wryly. “That’s what we think. He’s a Death Eater, Remus. It’s in his nature to get revenge on the boy who defeated Voldemort twice now.” 

“And you’re protecting him? Harry?” 

“Yes,” Dumbledore assured him. “He is being as protected as possible.”

Remus nodded. “Good.” 

“The boy needs a friend,” Dumbledore murmured. “Someone to look up to.” 

“A werewolf isn’t a particularly good role model,” Remus said, voice catching. “That’s not a reason for me to teach him.” 

“A friend of his parents is a good role model,” Dumbledore said. “Besides that, you are the best protection against Black. You know him best.” 

“Knew,” Remus corrected, but he wasn’t sure that it was truly past tense. Sirius was a different person now, after years in Azkaban and their friends’ murders on his hands, but Remus had always loved him best no matter what he did. Remus was the one who had always been there in the dark, fumbling against his lips and learning all his secrets. Remus had been the one by his side, even when things turned dark.

Dumbledore smiled at him. Remus sometimes wondered if he could read minds. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least. “Point being that you are the protection Harry needs.” 

“Nothing is stopping Sirius from killing me,” Remus said. He needed water, something to cleanse his parched throat. Every time he said the name, he thought he would die again. It was why he had pushed all of those memories away a long time ago-- or at least he had tried to. 

“No,” Dumbledore agreed. “There’s not. But you know his ways. Every secret about Hogwarts that he knows, you know as well. Every trick and spell he knows, you taught him. Every promise he broke, you kept.” 

Remus wanted to argue against him, remind him that James and Sirius had loved each other as brothers and spent more time together than Remus ever had, remind him that Sirius had always been a talented wizard with or without help, remind him that during the war, promises hadn’t meant anything to anyone.

“Fine,” Remus said bitterly. “Fine. I’ll come back to Hogwarts.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “I’ll see you on September 1st.” 

With a short smile, one that seemed to age him by a hundred years, Dumbledore turned on his foot and Disapparated.


	2. the moon (reversed)

Remus didn’t even have time to regret his decision before he was sitting on the Hogwarts Express, trying his best not to cry. It had been years since he had stepped foot on this train, years since he had let himself think about the last time. 

It was habit more than anything else that drew him to the last compartment, the one the Marauders had always sat in. He put his bag on the rack and settled into his usual spot. The right side by the window, where Sirius would have sat next to him, James across, and Peter next to James. If he squinted his eyes just right, he thought he could see their ghosts. If he closed his eyes all the way and held his breath, he thought he could hear their laughter. 

Settling in his seat, he smiled bitterly, running his hands down the wall. There, just there-- the initials scratched into the wall. RL, PP, SB, JP. 

God, they had been so young. Young enough to want to live forever, old enough to know that all they would be was a legacy. At least they had left a loud one. 

Remus took a deep breath, wrapping his cloak tight around him. It would be a long train ride. 

“Long summer, Moony?”

“The longest.” 

“Missed you.” 

“Fuck, Prongs, why so sentimental?” 

James shrugged, flicking his hair out of his eyes. He gave a lopsided grin, as if he were promising mischief. “It’s been a long summer, Re.” 

“Long summer living with this kid,” Sirius said, stepping into the compartment. It was always a dramatic movement for him, always a show. He flopped into the seat next to Remus, leaning against the wall by the door and shifting to his feet were over Remus’ legs. “Couldn’t wait to get back to the dormitories.” 

“Hey now,” James said. He settled into his own seat, leaning on his knees. “You would not believe what an awful roommate Padfoot is.” 

“We’ve lived with him for six years,” a voice interrupted, “I think we know.” 

Remus grinned, looking over to find Peter standing at the door. He hadn’t grown at all over the summer, but there was more confidence in his words as he sat down next to James. 

“Peter!” Sirius said, a laugh in his words. “God, I missed you guys.” 

“We’ve got a whole school year,” Remus said. A smile was growing on his face. “Shut up with the missing and tell me about your summers.” 

“Long summer, ‘Mione?” 

“The longest.” 

“Missed you.” 

“You wouldn’t, if you would write every now and then, Ronald.” 

Remus didn’t recognize those ghosts, the ones intruding on an old memory. Their voices were strange, more tangible than the Marauders’ voices had been. He kept his eyes closed, trying to hang onto the memory and ignore these strangers, but he couldn’t. They were too loud, too real, too alive compared to the ghosts he was still trying to love. 

“Harry!” the girl said, voice suddenly bright. “Sit down, sit down.” 

“Lay off him, Hermione,” the other voice said, “let him breathe.” 

Harry. Remus tried not to jump at the name, tried not to turn around and look, stare, find James and Lily’s son and confess everything. He tried not to turn and tell him all the memories he could conjure of James and search for the remnants of his old friend in the boy’s face.

But it wouldn’t be appropriate. Harry deserved a quiet train ride, especially if the rumors of the family he was living with were true. In another world, Remus and Sirius would have raised him in the flat they shared, showered him with love and promises and memories. They would have given him the life any kid deserved, the life neither he nor Sirius had been given, and the life stolen from James and Lily. 

“It’s good to see you,” Harry said, and Remus knew it must be Harry because he knew that voice, had ten years of memories all said in that voice, ten years of laughter and promises and love. He knew that voice. But the voice he was thinking of was a ghost, and these words were those of a child. 

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need to hear any of this. It wasn’t his place. Taking a shallow breath, and keeping his eyes closed, he tried to fall back into his memories of this train. Moving so slowly that the kids in the compartment with him couldn’t see, he ran his fingers over the initials again. 

They had done them together on the last train ride of seventh year, with a pocket knife Sirius had bought at a Muggle store just to spite his mother. They had been laughing, eager to leave a part of themselves in the place they had met and the place they curated a special kind of love. Seeing each other after a long summer made them appreciate each other that much more, the train ride back made them ache for each other before they had even left the station. 

Remus moved his hand away from the initials, remembering Sirius’ smile. It was gone now. He was screaming, in all the posters, eyes wild and hair unkempt and mouth gaping black. He looked like the insane madman people told Remus he was. 

But there was also a familiarity in his deadened eyes, reminiscent of the times he would join the other boys after summers with his family. It was twelve years with the dementors, Remus figured, making him relive all his worst memories again and again. Unless those weren’t his worst memories, unless he had been a piece of the Black family game the whole time. 

He fell asleep still agonizing about Sirius Black for what was not the first time and what would not be the last time. In his dreams, Sirius was holding him close after a full moon, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Sirius had always been showing affection in any way that he could, littering the Marauders with hugs and smiles and kisses. It had all been platonic in a way that the other students at Hogwarts frowned upon but were too scared to say anything about. It had all been Remus’ favorite way of feeling loved. 

The dream changed, eventually, to James and Peter lounging on the four posters in the dormitories. James had a stolen snitch floating in circles about him, and Peter was lazily tossing crumpled pieces of paper at it, much to James’ dismay and Sirius’ entertainment. Remus dreamt of walking in on the scene, watching as an outsider, unable to participate. 

The crumpled paper turned to flying embers as Sirius laughed, wand out and throwing fire at James. Peter stumbled out of bed, a horrible scream leaving his mouth, the last sound there before Sirius pointed his wand at him, the spell hitting Peter directly in the chest and sending him flying backwards and exploding into--

Remus woke up with a start, a freezing shiver running down his arms. He could hear someone fall, and looking at the door of the compartment, a Dementor hissed, crumbling fingers reaching out and clawing out any happy memory it could find. The kids in the compartment were staring, wide and dead eyed, the color draining from their faces. 

“None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks,” Remus said, voice hard. “Go.” 

The Dementor didn’t budge, only reached out its hands even further, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry collapse. Though the Dementor was faceless and soulless, Remus could imagine it smiling as Harry twitched once, then again. 

Remus glared, imaging his eyes as wild as Sirius’ eyes in the posters, and thought about Sirius in the astronomy tower years ago, let the memory fill him up and flow into all the deepest parts of him, Sirius’ laughter as he leaned into James’ chest, Peter’s grin as the moonlight fell on his cheeks, altogether harmless, a thousand stars above them, a bottle of firewhiskey in, Sirius blowing a kiss to Remus and God, that smile. He let the memory soak into his skin, felt it warm the cold in his fingers and his lungs, and watched as a shimmering shield threw the dementor back. 

He stood there, breathing hard for a long second. He hated the charm, despised the warm feeling in his chest when he thought about Sirius, the way he couldn’t find enough hate in his heart to cast out that memory. The way that the memory of Sirius laughing was his happiest one, happy enough to cast out a Dementor, when Sirius was just as much his worst fear. 

Remus turned to Harry, watching as the girl and redhead heaved him back onto the train seat. 

“Are you okay?” the girl asked, worriedly staring at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said, fumbling with his glasses. He had the same glasses as James did, and Remus tried not to see the irony in that. 

Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. “What happened? Where’s that-- that thing? Who screamed?” 

“No one screamed,” the redhead said. He looked at Harry with the same worry that the girl did, biting his lip and eyes wide. 

“But I heard screaming,” Harry said, glancing between the girl and boy. 

Remus pulled a bar of chocolate from his pocket, snapping off a piece. The three all startled, looking at him as if they were seeing him for the first time. “Eat it,” he told Harry. “It’ll help.” 

Harry took the chocolate, but he was hesitant in the movement. “What was that thing?” 

“A Dementor,” Remus told him, heart sinking. He handed chocolate to the other two, the redhead eating it quickly while the girl held hers doubtfully. “One of the Dementors of Azkaban.” 

The three all stared at him, the redhead the only one with a budding horror in his eyes. The girl must have been a Muggleborn, and Harry not having grown up with wizards, neither would know about Dementors. The boy would tell them as soon as Remus left, he was sure. 

“Eat,” Remus said. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me….” 

Remus took a breath, stepping past the trio to leave the compartment. The door slid closed behind him, and he took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned against it. He didn’t need to speak with the driver. He was sure the driver didn’t have anything to do with this, and simply didn’t know how to stop it. He just… he needed to leave. He couldn’t sit there, watching Harry in pain, knowing Harry didn’t recognize him at all. 

He stood there for a few moments longer, trying to get rid of the Dementor from his mind. The Dementor’s presence, he knew, was meant to suck all of the happiness from your mind. That was the point, that was why they were guards of the worst prison in the United Kingdom, that was why he felt now like he couldn’t ever smile again. 

It ran deeper than that, he knew. He couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop the voices in his head. The crying, the screaming, the green flashes of light, common only in wartime. Twelve years, Sirius had been in that prison. Twelve years, Sirius had suffered the Dementors. Twelve years, Sirius had laid in a cell thinking only the darkest thoughts, twelve years, Sirius had been alone. 

Sirius deserved it. He had killed James and Lily and Peter and betrayed everything that Remus had known and loved. He deserved only the worst. 

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Sirius and James and Peter in the astronomy tower, and the way the memory had filled him gold and silver and have given him happiness in front of a Dementor. He hated himself for it, but couldn’t get rid of it. 

Twelve years had passed, and not one of those days had passed without the briefest hope that it had all been a bad dream. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the compartment. He needed to sit down for a long time, and there was no better place to do it. 

Remus paused as he entered, letting the door slide closed. He forced a smile. “I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know.” 

Harry took a bite of the chocolate, and Remus felt satisfied enough that he had done his job. Chocolate had always helped him, and Peter had eaten several bars the first time the Marauders had come across a Dementor in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class seventh year. A small voice reminded him that there was no chocolate in Azkaban, but he shoved the thought away in favor of sitting down. 

“We’ll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes,” Remus told them. “Are you alright, Harry?” 

“Fine,” Harry muttered, looking away. He nibbled at the chocolate, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The two others watched him, concerned, and Remus tried to hide a smile. They clearly cared a lot about Harry, and Remus was glad that he had such good friends. 

Remus looked out at the window, where the frost was beginning to fade. He slouched in his seat again, watching as the train resumed motion, the trees blurring again. He wished he weren’t alone, but he didn’t know who he wanted with him. Or, he did know, but he didn’t want to admit it. 

“We’ll be at Hogwarts soon,” a boy said, and Remus wasn’t quite sure who he was hearing anymore.


	3. the world (reversed)

Hogwarts was the same that it had always been. After the feast, Remus wandered the halls, all his memories coming back like water washing down dirty skin. He found his own office and rooms easily, the Defense classroom the same one it had always been. He remembered the first time his own professor had shown the class a Boggart version of a Dementor. Sirius had passed out as well, the same as Harry. Remus shoved the thought away with a vengeance only ever reserved for Sirius. 

Dumbledore had reminded him that Sirius would probably come for Harry, or for Remus, or for the both of them together. Remus knew how Sirius worked, and he couldn’t help but agree. Sirius had never given up on something that he had started. 

“He’s at Hogwarts,” Sirius was rumored to have been muttering in his cell, days before he had escaped. “He’s at Hogwarts.” 

Remus had never visited him. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, God he wanted to see Sirius more than anything, but if Remus visited Sirius nothing was stopping him from loving him all over again. Nothing was stopping him from feeling the ache and burn of betrayal all over again once he left. Nothing was stopping him from seeing the hallowed rings around Sirius’ eyes and wishing he could magic away everything terrible in the world. Nothing was stopping him from the guilt. 

He wandered down the hallways, passing a tapestry that hid a shortcut to the Potions classroom. He moved past a statue of a knight that once berated James for running too fast. He walked like a ghost down another hallway, where Severus had run screeching from a giant spider that got into the castle due to reasons completely unrelated to James Potter. 

He walked past another tapestry, this one hiding the broom closet James and Lily used to sneak off to in seventh year. Another turn down another hallway and he found himself at the old History of Magic lecture hall, where Sirius used to charm paper airplanes to fly from his desk to the place James sat. 

Eventually, he couldn’t bring himself to walk anymore, and started back to what would be his bedroom. Before he could reach it, though, someone tapped on his shoulder. 

He spun around, wand in hand before he could think about it. In front of him stood McGonagall, one eyebrow raised. 

“It’s just me, Remus,” she said, a wry smile budding on her lips. 

Remus swallowed, putting his wand away. “Old habits.” 

“We all lived through a war,” McGonagall said, “I understand. Come back to my office with me, will you? 

Remus nodded, and she turned towards her office. He followed silently, the only sound their feet against the floor, echoing like beats of a drum. She turned the corner, opening a door and letting him inside. She didn’t go to her own desk, but sat on top of one of the student desks, crossing her hands over her lap. Remus stood awkwardly at the door, this new dynamic of teacher-teacher weirder than he thought it would be. 

“Professor,” Remus started and she waved a hand. 

“Minerva, please,” she said. “You’re a professor as well, now, Remus.” 

Remus smiled at her, a breath of a laugh on his tongue. “I don’t think I can do that, Professor. Even after all of these years.” 

“As you wish, Remus.” 

Remus’ smiled faded as he crossed his arms over his chest, less angry than worried. “Look, if you’re going to ask if I’ve seen him, I haven’t, and I already told both Dumbledore and the Ministry, several times.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask,” McGonagall said, voice kind. “But thank you for telling me.” 

Remus shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “What were you going to ask?” 

“I was going to ask if you had seen Harry.” 

“Oh,” Remus said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. He looked up at her, finally meeting her eyes. She looked older than she ever had, and Remus didn’t know how to deal with that. “I did see him. Dementors gave him a scare, and I gave him some chocolate. We didn’t talk much.” 

“Does he know who you are?” she asked, smoothing out her robes. It was her, this time, who couldn’t look him in the eye. 

Remus frowned. “Who I am?” 

“His father’s best friend,” McGonagall said softly. “Or, one of.” 

“I don’t think so,” Remus said. “I don’t know how much he knows of his father at all. Or-- him.” 

“Sirius,” McGonagall said, filling in the blanks.

“Yeah.” 

She smiled at him, but it was a sad smile. He wondered if she was feeling the same things he was, the anger, the hate, but above all, the detested love. “You can say his name, Remus.” 

“I don’t think I can,” Remus said, trying for an equal smile. He thought his heart would break if he said the name and he couldn’t afford for that to happen here. 

“Okay,” McGonagall said, not pushing it. She had always known how to handle a grieving student better than anyone else, and Remus thought maybe she understood him more than he wanted to admit. “But to your earlier comment, about Harry-- he knows nothing about James and Lily and what was it you lot called yourself?” 

Remus felt his cheeks redden. “James came up with it. The Marauders.” 

“The Marauders,” McGonagall repeated, chuckling. “Harry doesn’t know any of it. No one has ever told him.” 

“Why haven’t you?” 

McGonagall shrugged. “It’s not my place. I was always fond of you all, you know. But it’s not my place to tell Harry about Lily and you four.” 

Even in death, even now, it was “you four,” Remus noted. Even after everything, it was as if the Marauders were still one unit, one person. That, he supposed, was the way it had been in their school years. They were four different people, but in the end, they were so in sync, so loving, that it had always just been them, together. It was still hard to let go of that. 

“I wish he knew,” Remus whispered, so soft that he wasn’t sure McGonagall heard him. “I just wish he had been able to find out for himself.” 

“Me too,” McGonagall said in an equal whisper. “But as it is, the only real connection he has to them is you.” 

“Yeah,” Remus conceded. There wasn’t much more to argue there. 

McGonagall studied him for a moment, frowning. “How are you dealing with all of this, Remus?”

“I’m okay,” Remus said, trying to smile at her.

She clearly wasn’t convinced, though, and shook her head in a slight, forgiving motion. “He’s escaped, and done horrible things and plans on doing more. Are you sure you’re okay? He meant the world and more to you, Remus, I know that much.” 

A cold fear shot through Remus, stifling his breath for a long moment. Did she know? She couldn’t know. He had been so careful, so silent. No one left living except for Sirius himself could have even guessed at it. She couldn’t know about the wanting that so filled his chest now. She couldn’t know, and if she did-- he didn’t want to think about it. 

“Things have changed,” he stuttered out. “It’s all-- it’s all different now.” 

She nodded, and Remus collapsed internally. She did know, she saw straight through him. She would expose him for what he was, she would-- 

“You can always talk to me,” was all that McGonagall said. “I know it’s hard, however much things have changed.” 

Remus only nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not without spilling all of his secrets. McGonagall sighed, the wrinkles at her skin all too new and all too old at the same time. 

“I think it’s time we both got some sleep,” she said eventually. “I shall see you tomorrow, Remus. First day of classes is always a big one.”


	4. the high priestess (reversed)

Remus hated the moon. Hated it with everything in him, with the fiber of his muscles and the liquid in his veins. Hated it with the ache of his joints and the crack of his neck. Hated it with the shake of his hand and the scars on his back. 

But sitting at the top of the Astronomy Tower with Sirius and James and Peter, it didn’t seem so scary. Sirius and James were sitting on the steps, Sirius with his leg over James’ leg, laughing about something. Peter stood at the railing, looking up at the stars. That was what they were here to do, keep Peter company while he did his Astronomy homework. But that didn’t seem to matter that much, not while Remus watched the moonlight on Sirius’ skin and the shimmer of his smile. 

It was seventh year, and God, Remus had never known a pining like this. He had never known the ache in his heart to be this heavy, the pull of his fingers to be this strong. He had never looked at Sirius and been left feeling both empty and whole all at once. Sirius and his smile, Sirius and his kiss, Sirius and the fumble of his words when he was flustered. 

Remus had loved Sirius Black for a long time, but it had never been as intense as this. If he had been a match and a flame before, this now was a forest fire. 

It was never something he could say out loud, he knew that, but it was something sacred to keep in his heart. He was worshipping Sirius Black, the dirt beneath his knees scarring his skin, his body aching, but never stirring from his position. He was praying to a God he didn’t believe in, hoping that Sirius would say something. 

He never would, Remus knew. Sirius didn’t feel the same way, and Remus knew that. There were moments when Remus thought he felt something, but they passed as soon as the hangover did. There were moments when Remus allowed himself to get his hopes up, but they were crushed within the hour. 

So the four of them just sat at the Astronomy Tower together, watching the stars spin by. Peter finished marking down things on his star charts, and had joined the three of them at the stairs. James was smiling-- he always seemed to be happy about something, these days-- drumming his fingers against Sirius’ thigh. 

Peter sat at the step below Remus, leaning his head against Remus’ knee. Without thinking about it, he ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, the movement as natural as the flow of a river. It was the four of them against the world, against the stars and moon, against the darkness. 

“You guys worried about tomorrow?” Sirius asked, resting his head on James’ shoulder. He had his eyes closed, as if he was already picturing what would come when the sun rose again. 

The next day would be the first lessons in how to Aparate, and the rumors of what it would be like had reached them earlier that day. The lessons had been put off a year because the first instructor got splinched and they had to find a new one, who apparently was worse than any of the instructors had been in recent years. 

“Nah,” James said, wrapping a hand around Sirius’ waist. “How hard can Apparition be?” 

Peter shrugged. “I’ve got a cousin who got splinched once. Left his head in London while his body went to Edinburgh.” 

Sirius opened his eyes. “What happened to him?” 

“What do you think happens to bodies without heads?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“Oh shush,” James said, waving a hand that almost hit Remus. Remus ducked, glaring at James who looked down apologetically before continuing. “It’ll be fine. Besides, all the sixth and seventh years are learning together, there’s bound to be at least one person worse than you, Padfoot.” 

“Thanks,” Sirius grumbled, closing his eyes again. “Real comforting.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Remus said. He reached up to the step above him, squeezing Sirius’ ankle and smiling softly though Sirius couldn’t see it. The touch sent something electric through his heart, and he pulled away like he had been stung. Sirius didn’t notice. 

Sirius smiled, eyes still closed, as if the touch had healed something in him. Remus tried not to look too deeply into it, but watching Sirius yawn and snuggle closer to James made something burn. 

“You’re exhausted,” James said, patting Sirius’ hair. “Wormtail, if you’re done, we should get some sleep.”

“Always the mother hen,” Sirius muttered, but it was soft and stilted by another yawn, so no one took much notice. 

Peter nodded, pressing his head against Remus’ legs for just one more touch before standing up. “I’m done, let’s get going.” 

“Someone carry me,” Sirius groaned, eyes squeezed shut as James shoved him off. James only rolled his eyes, leaving Sirius yawning as he stood up. 

Remus stood, reaching out a hand to Sirius. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride if you get me chocolate next time you’re at Honeydukes.” 

“All the chocolate in the world,” Sirius said, grinning. “Fuck James and Peter, you’re my favorite, Moony.” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Come on.” 

Remus had carried Sirius back down to the dormitories, he remembered, back aching all the way. Sirius rested his chin on the top of Remus’ head, and nothing really seemed to matter more than that touch. But a decade later, Remus was terrified of it, terrified of the memory-- a palpable feeling, thick against his skin. In so many ways, fear was an unconquerable thing. 

In other ways, fear was a distant ghost. 

Thinking about that, the irony of his first lesson with the third years couldn’t be missed-- Boggarts. But it was an important lesson, Remus’ own cowardice be damned. With all the Dementors crawling around the grounds like wraiths at the gallows, it was important to remember how to laugh. 

While Dementors targeted your happy memories, sucking them out and leaving you with your ghosts, Boggarts only tackled tangible dark fears. Not the things in your subconscious, not the fears which had you crying in your nightmares, but the everyday phobias that could be named in a word. 

Snakes, clowns, desk jobs, dead friends, mummies, banshees-- those were all fears that thirteen year olds had faced and could name. Maybe they also feared death or an Unforgivable Curse, but those weren’t things boggarts cared about. For most students, it would stop at snakes.

Harry, on the other hand, had faced a trauma that the other students hadn’t. He could name fears the others couldn’t name. Remus watched as the Boggart went from student to student, and as he watched, his gaze flickered to Harry, and made a split second decision. 

He refused to have Voldemort show up in a classroom of third years, even if it wasn’t real. 

When the Boggart turned to Harry, Remus slipped in front of him, jaw set in stone, and a “Riddikulus!” leaving his tongue before he could think about it. He dismissed the class, and tried not to think much of it. It wasn’t until Harry visited him in his office later that he realized his mistake. 

“You’ve been thinking I don’t think you're capable of fighting?” Remus asked, sipping at his tea. 

Harry, suddenly very interested in the fraying edge of his robes, nodded. 

“I think you’re perfectly capable,” Remus said slowly. “If I find another one, I’ll supervise you having a go at it.” 

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said, looking up. “I just-- I don’t know. A lot of people seem to think I’m weak, especially… now.” 

Remus took a long sip of tea. “With, uh-- ”

“Sirius Black,” Harry supplied. 

“Right,” Remus said. He put his tea cup down. “He’s a very talented wizard, Harry. It’s not that you aren’t capable, it’s just… Black… is strong, and has more anger in him that I hope you will ever know.” 

“You talk as if you knew him,” Harry said curiously. 

Remus licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. His tea was getting cold and Harry was studying him in a way that he didn’t like. It was the same way James had looked at him every full moon of their first year, asking if he was okay as if he knew there was something going on that Remus wouldn’t ever explain. 

There were all these little things Harry did that Remus couldn’t help but compare to his parents, and a thousand more than made Harry his own person. Maybe it was rude, but Remus knew no other way of living than cataloguing each tick and habit, trying to understand the son his friends had left behind. 

“I knew him,” Remus said softly, “yes. It’s best not to dwell on it, Harry.” 

After a moment of silence, Harry nodded, taking a breath. There were things Remus wasn’t telling him, and he could tell that Harry knew that. 

“I better be going,” Harry eventually said. “Hermione and Ron should be back from Hogsmeade soon. Happy Halloween, Professor.” 

Remus nodded. “Happy Halloween, Harry.” 

Harry stood, nodding seriously at him. The boy didn’t smile enough, Remus thought. He needed more to smile about. He stepped out of the office, leaving Remus alone with his cold tea and the dreadful reminder that it was Halloween. 

October 31st, Remus thought. The day James and Lily and Peter died, the day Sirius was taken to Azkaban without trial, the day that Remus had lost everything. All of the things Remus loved, gone in one night that seemed to last a year. 

The funeral wasn’t long after that. James and Lily were buried in the ground next to each other. Severus sent flowers, and Remus had them buried with Lily. She had always had a soft spot for him, even after they stopped being friends. He thought she might like it. Dumbledore came to the funeral, and it took everything in Remus not to attack him. He had been the one to suggest having a Secret Keeper, he had been the one to promise they would be protected. 

Remus stood separate from the other mourners, who were mostly there to celebrate that Voldemort was gone because of their sacrifice. It was a bright, sunny day, and Remus couldn’t keep the light out of his eyes. The marble headstones reflected the rays of light off their carved memoriam, and Remus couldn’t blink for fear that the world would collapse under his feet. 

Within a week of the funeral was the full moon, and he came out of it more damaged than he had in decades. Grief, he remembered thinking, was a strange thing. Sometimes it came out in the sobbing he did alone at night, sometimes it came out in the beer bottle he threw against the wall and the glass shards he didn’t bother to clean up. Sometimes it came out in the numbness as he put away all his pictures. 

Sometimes it came out in the wolf, sitting in a cage and tearing at its own skin, desperate to hurt someone, whoever it was. Sometimes it came out when he woke after the full moon, crying and bleeding and wishing he wasn’t alone, begging for someone to find him. 

Grief, he thought now, was a strange thing. For the first time in a long time, he brought out a little framed picture from his trunk. It was James and Lily standing ankle deep in the Black Lake, splashing water at each other. Remus could practically hear their laughter. It was the summer that Sirius and Peter had gotten interested in photography-- he wasn’t sure which one of them had taken the picture, but there was a bittersweet tinge to it as he looked at it. 

It wasn’t until Severus barged into his office, wand at the ready that he even knew what had happened. 

“Did you do it?” he snarled, creeping forward. His lip was curled, wand firm in his first. 

Remus stood, hands raised in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Black,” Severus hissed. “He’s in the castle.” 

Everything in Remus’ chest dropped, sinking from his heart to his gut, turning over in the same way that the water had churned in the photo he had just been looking at. His face went slack, vision suddenly sharper, everything in him on high alert. 

“What?” 

Severus stalked closer, wand pointed higher, towards Remus’ face. “Did you help him?” 

“Is Harry okay?” Remus asked in a rush, trying to hide his sudden discomposure. 

“Answer the question!” 

Remus stepped back, hands still up. Something angry gripped at his bones, suddenly white hot and burning. “Fucking of course not!” 

“Severus!” someone else yelled, voice sharp and angry. “Stand down!” 

At his doorway, McGonagall stood, her wand also out. “Both of you calm down, this is not the time for petty schoolyard squabbles.” 

Severus glared at her, fuming, but he put his wand back in his robes. “Fine,” he muttered, stalking out of the room, giving Remus one last glare. 

Remus took an unsteady breath, moving his eyes from Severus’ retreating back to McGonagall. “I swear, Professor, I didn’t-- ”

“I know,” she said tiredly. “I don’t know why you would have. Even if you did, you would have given him the password to the Gryffindor dormitory, it doesn’t make sense to do it halfway. All of the professors and ghosts are searching the castle. You know the secret passageways better than anyone else, check all of those, please.” 

Remus nodded, standing stiffly as he watched McGonagall leave the room. She kept her wand out, as if she were prepared for any encounter she might have. 

Sirius wouldn’t stick around if he had been here at all, Remus knew. He had tried to get into the dormitory-- tried to get to Harry-- and failed, and that was all. He would be far away by now. However well the castle was searched, they would never find him. They would, after all, be searching for a madman in an unknowable castle, not a large black dog who, once upon a time, had mapped all of it.


	5. the hermit (reversed)

“Professor,” Harry said, stepping into his office. Remus looked up from where he was grading papers, finding Harry standing nervously in the doorway, rubbing at the back of his hand. “Is now a bad time?” 

“Not at all,” Remus said, motioning the chair in front of his desk. He stood, making his way to a kettle where the water was already boiling. “I was just about to make tea. What can I do for you?” 

“Sirius Black,” Harry started, and Remus stumbled, nearly dropping the kettle. “Professor?” 

Remus swallowed, recovering and wiping up the spilled water with his sleeve. He poured hot water into two mugs, trying to keep his breathing steady. “I have Earl Grey, chai, black vanilla, rosemary…” 

“Chai would be nice,” Harry said hesitantly. “Professor, I understand if you don’t want to talk…” 

Remus shook his head, bringing the tea over to the two of them. “It’s alright, Harry. A few questions never hurt anyone, did they?” 

Harry smiled a rare smile, taking his tea. Remus could tell that he was one of the few teachers Harry had grown attached to, trusted, and something about that made his stomach turn. If only Harry knew the truth, how he-- how he had loved Sirius Black with all of his heart and soul, how he still couldn’t bring himself to hate the man. 

“You knew my parents, didn’t you?” Harry asked, taking a sip of the tea. He didn’t meet Remus’ eyes, and that was all for the better, if Remus didn’t want Harry to know exactly how much he missed them. 

“I did,” Remus confirmed. “We-- we were close. You look like James, you know-- ”

“With my mother’s eyes,” Harry finished. “I know.” 

Remus smiled. “I imagine you get that a lot.” 

“From everyone who knew them,” Harry confirmed. “But the way you talk about them, Professor, as if you… you knew them better.” 

Remus took a sip of his own tea, turning over lies and answers in his head. “We were friends at Hogwarts,” he finally said, deciding on a watered down version of the truth he remembered. “James and Lily. I grew up with the two of them, all of us being in the same year here.” 

“What were they like?” Harry asked in a small voice, as if he weren’t sure he wanted to know. 

“James was the bravest person I knew,” Remus said, smiling to himself. “A troublemaker, but he would have done anything for any of his friends. He and his friend must have had the record for most detentions in a year, but I hear that the Weasley twins are giving them a run for their money.” 

“What friend?”

Remus set the tea down. He didn’t want to answer the question, but Harry had a right to know. He didn’t need to hear it from eavesdropping on another student, or from Severus dropping cruel hints. “I suppose you don’t know much about our Hogwarts years.” 

“Nothing at all,” Harry told him. “That’s why-- that’s why I’m asking you. No one else seems to want to tell me anything.” 

“They were a group,” Remus said slowly. “James and Peter and him.” 

“Him?” 

There was a burning feeling in his chest, and Remus wondered when he would stop counting the bruises that were left on his heart. “Sirius,” Remus said, voice cracking. “Sirius Black.” 

Harry took a deep breath. His hands were shaking, and a drop of tea spilled over the rim of the mug. He set it down on the desk with a clatter, hands balling into fists. 

“He was their friend,” Harry said, words dark. 

They were brothers, Remus wanted to say. James and Sirius and Peter and himself, they were family, more than. Sirius and James had been more than all of them, had been something special. They had loved each other in that way that couldn’t be named. Not romantically, of course, there had only ever been Lily for James, but in a way only a chosen family could love each other. Remus had been in love with Sirius, he could tell himself that now, he could live with that, but James and Sirius had been blood brothers. The betrayal was unthinkable. 

“Yes,” Remus said softly. “None of us-- no one ever thought he would turn… the way he did.” 

“I’ll kill him,” Harry said, voice hard. “I hope he does come after me, I hope he does find me. I’m going to kill him when he does.” 

Remus took a shallow breath. He watched as Harry stood up, hands still shaking, and stormed out of the room. Even after he was gone, Remus could hear the echo of his words, the anger, the shaky, wet determination. He could hear the echo of his promise, and it was the same one Remus wanted to make but could never bring himself to. He wondered how broken that made him. 

He didn’t see Harry again until their next class, when he appeared as calm as ever. He stood with Ron and Hermione, and the way that the two were looking at Remus made him guess that Harry had told the two everything. He only hoped that the two would talk him out of doing anything foolhardy. 

They had their lesson on Grindylows, then the lesson on simple shield spells, then their lesson on hinkypunks, then the full moon, then the lesson on banshees, then the lesson on simple offensive spells, reducto and petrificus totalus and incarcerous and confringo and then the full moon and then Harry came back to Remus’ office. 

“Harry,” Remus said, looking up from his desk. He didn’t bother hiding how relieved he was that Harry came back. “How are you?” 

Harry shook his head, sitting down at the desk. He looked down at his hands, the knuckles bloodied and one of his fingernails black and blue. 

“I heard about the Quidditch match,” Remus said softly. “I’m sorry to hear about your broom.” 

Harry shrugged. “There are worse things in the world. Professor, I-- ” he stopped, looking up at Remus and then away again. “The Dementors,” he finished lamely. 

“What about them?” 

“They affect me more than anyone else,” Harry muttered, as if he were ashamed. “I don’t know why.” 

Remus thought about it for a long moment, tapped his chin, tapped the desk. 

“Dementors are among the foulest creatures on earth, Harry. They infest the darkest parts of the world, of the mind, and then feed on all of the happy memories that come near them.” He hesitated, looking over the frown on Harry’s face. “They affect you more than the other students because there are horrors in your past that the other students don’t have.” 

“Voldemort,” Harry said, resigned to every horror in his life coming back to Voldemort. “When I-- when the Dementors come near me, I can hear him. I can hear him murdering my mum.” 

Remus flinched at that, nearly dropping his tea. Harry watched him stumble, as if trying to catalogue all the moments that Remus’ self control failed him. He tried to steady his breathing, and Harry switched the conversation slightly.

“Why did they have to come to the Quidditch match?” he asked bitterly. He leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his unruly hair. 

Remus sighed. “They’re angry Dumbledore won’t let them onto the grounds. They’re getting hungry, with a lack of human prey out where they are. All of the energy and happiness at the Quidditch match was… irresistible, in a way. Their idea of a feast.” 

“Azkaban must be terrible,” Harry muttered.

“Yes,” Remus agreed. “The fortress is set on a tiny island, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not really. They’re all too trapped in their own heads, in their miserable thoughts, incapable of thinking anything happy. Most of them-- they go mad in days or weeks.” 

“Not Sirius Black,” Harry said, looking Remus directly in the eye. “He escaped.” 

Remus’ breath faltered again, and he wondered if and when Sirius would ever stop being his weakness. There were wolves and anger and secrets inside of him, but everything stopped at the mere mention of Sirius Black. 

“He did,” Remus said weakly. He coughed, trying to regain his strength. “He did. He must have found a way past the Dementors.” 

That’s when it hit him-- the Dementors don’t sense animals like they do humans. They don’t feed on them the same way, or recognize their thoughts. And Sirius-- this was a secret Remus would never betray, no matter how much he hated Sirius-- Sirius could turn into an animal at any whim. 

That was how he escaped Azkaban. It was information he should probably reveal to Dumbledore, or the Ministry, or someone, but that would involve revealing all too much of his past, and Remus Lupin had always been a coward. 

“How?” Harry asked. He watched Remus with a burning in his eyes that Remus recognized all too well. It was the same hate that burned in his own eyes when he thought of how Sirius betrayed them all. 

“I haven’t the faintest,” Remus lied, wetting his lips. “Voldemort would have taught him some things, I suppose, though I don’t know what they are.” 

Harry shook his head. “You did it, that night on the train. You cast something-- a charm, or something, and made the Dementor leave.” 

“It’s difficult magic,” Remus said hesitantly. “And wouldn’t help you break out of Azkaban, not without a wand.” 

“But it would work on the Quidditch field, if they came back,” Harry said, leaning forward slightly. There was an excitement in his words that Remus hadn’t heard since Sirius broke into the castle on Halloween. “You have to teach me.” 

“It’s very advanced,” Remus said again. 

“You’re a good teacher, I can do it, please.” 

Remus sighed, looking down at his tea. Cold again. It always seemed to end up cold, and never seemed to quite warm him up the way he needed it to. “Alright, Harry, but if it gets to be too much, we’ll stop.” 

“Deal,” Harry said. He leaned back, smiling, and looked all too like James for Remus to smile back. 

James had always been the first to be the first to smile, to turn a sob into a laugh and a joke. That smile was there, a ghost in Harry’s face. But while James had been the one to make Remus feel better after a bad night, Sirius had been the one to hold him through the nightmares. It was different, but Remus couldn’t help but ache for the both of them. 

“You’re crying,” Sirius said, sixteen and a walking dream, pushing the bed’s curtains away and moving onto Remus’ bed. His voice was quiet in the darkness, and Remus could barely see his shadow move. “Talk to me, Moony.” 

Remus swallowed, pulling himself into a sitting position. He wrapped his hands around his knees, shivering despite the stuffed heat of the room. Sirius moved closer, sitting next to Remus, putting a hand to his arm and rubbing soft circles in his skin. 

“It’s nothing,” Remus said, finally looking over at Sirius. A pang shot through his heart, reminding him of his wanting, the endless, irreparable wanting. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Sirius smiled wryly, a ghost in the darkness. He found Remus’ hand in the dark, tangling their fingers together, their palms touching, and Remus resisted a gasped breath. “I always worry about you.” 

“Why’s that?” Remus asked. 

“I love you,” Sirius said, voice both sweet and hard, complete honesty daring Remus to laugh. He was so sure of this, surer than Remus had ever been about anything. “Just like you love me, right?” 

“Yes, I think so,” Remus said. His voice was just as ghostly as the touch of Sirius’ hand. He didn’t know if that was true, if they really did love each other the same way, but holding hands in the dark made Remus dare to imagine it. “I think so.” 

Remus woke from the dream with a start, finding himself in Hogwarts in a very different time. He settled back onto the pillow, breathing hard. It had just been a dream, but he remembered the night so clearly. He and Sirius were talking about such different things, Remus in love and Sirius loving, Sirius pressing a friendly kiss to his temple before slipping off to his own bed, Remus taking that and learning to breathe for the next month. 

It had been so real, though, in the dream. He ran his hand over his right palm, as if still able to feel Sirius’ hand in his own. He pressed down on his heartline, digging his fingernails into the soft skin, wishing the feeling was gone. Sirius had, in the worst and most beautiful way, bruised and branded and broken him with the memory of a touch. 

Sirius had been in the castle, had tried to get into the Gryffindor common room and find Harry. He was trying to kill the son of their best friends. Logically, Remus knew that he hated Sirius. Logically, he knew that Sirius had broken his heart a thousand times over and he should, at some point soon, stop forgiving. 

Deep under his ribcage, though, he knew he never would. 

It was a broken and guilty kind of love, the same way it always had been-- with Sirius indulging him when they were drunk, with Remus staring from afar, with a light touch on the hollow of his spine, with the electric kiss against the corner of his mouth meant only as friends, with the brush of hand to hand. 

It was the kind of love that you can’t say out loud for fear of punishment, and that was no love Remus would dare to dream of. It’s the kind of love that only matters in the dark, when it’s just the two of you and no other eyes will ever remember. It’s the kind of love that keeps you waiting, and waiting, and waiting for that betrayal, that laugh, that exposure. 

It had been all of that and more. Now, though, the guilt of it all outweighed everything else. There was the sorrow hanging from a rope in Remus’ ribcage, the exhaustion building like a river against a dam in his veins. The dying, bloody mockingbird singing a love song. The ghosts in his ears, the phantoms in his eyes, clouding all reason. 

Sirius was here, and he was a killer, and Remus knew that. Sirius, twelve years ago, had stolen everything from Remus in the same way he had been taking hold of Remus’ breaths since they were kids. Violent and hopeless. 

“I don’t love you,” Remus whispered into the darkness. All his ghosts seemed to laugh. 

There was no point in sleeping after that. The last night of the full moon had only been two nights ago, and all of his dreams were simply products of the wolf. All of that anger, and hate, and love, all of that was from a carnal desire in his body, running through the veins of a beast. 

Remus sat at the edge of his bed, feet freezing and goosebumps running down his arms. When they had shared a flat, Sirius had climbed into his bed more often than not. It kept the nightmares away from the both of them, giving them one safer night. There was a war going on, and both would take any kind of comfort that they could, whoever it came from. They didn’t touch while they slept, didn’t whisper sweet nothings with their cheeks pressed to the pillows. They just slept under the same roof and same covers and dreamt of a dreamless sleep. 

Towards the end, when the rumors of a spy came about, when the secret keeping began, Sirius stopped climbing into his bed. It took every muscle in Remus’ body to keep from feeling hurt. He knew that they all thought he was the spy, he knew that. 

It made sense, after all-- he was the werewolf, the Dark creature, and however much acceptance they gave him in the safety of Hogwarts, it didn’t fully extend to a war between Light and Dark. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

Remus sighed, standing up and stretching. His bare feet were cold against the floor, and he remembered Peter arguing with him about the values of socks during the night. He smiled to himself at the memory of the two of them in fourth year, arguing over a breakfast of oatmeal and their first sips of black coffee-- Remus hated it, but Peter wouldn’t hear a word against it. 

The Marauders had loved Peter as they loved each other. Anything Remus would have done for James, he would have done for Peter too. Maybe it started with Peter simply looking for protection from bigger and louder boys, but that didn’t make the three others love him any less. 

It wasn’t worth thinking about, now. Peter was dead and James was too and Sirius was going to kill him somehow, whether it was by wand or knife or word. 

Remus got dressed slowly, wincing at the newest scar on his back. The transformations had always hurt, however much of the Wolfsbane potion he took, and however well Snape brewed it. He smiled to himself, thinking about the blatant horror on Harry’s face when he watched Remus drink the potion from Severus. It cheered him up slightly to think that not only was Harry so loyal to Remus, but a distaste for Severus appeared to run in the family. 

Once dressed, he moved down to his office, putting together the lesson plans for today. The third years would learn about dueling, something they had apparently been exposed to last year, without much success. Remus liked to think he was a better teacher than Gilderoy Lockhart had been, at least according to his students. 

The day moved as slow as Remus felt himself moving. The students knew he was off today, he could tell, and from the frown on Hermione’s face, he guessed she knew why. The brightest witch of her age, people called her, and he was inclined to agree. 

Ignoring the matter, he went on with his lessons. Teaching was something he had always been good at, if the grades of all the peers his tutored meant anything. James always said that he was the only reason Benjy Fenwick passed Charms. Remus didn’t know how true that was, but they were kind words. 

Harry came to his office after dinner, knocking three times on the door before Remus called him in. 

“Professor,” Harry started, “I was just wondering…” 

He stopped and Remus frowned. “You alright, Harry?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, after a moment. He sat down at the chair in front of Remus’ desk, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pants. 

Remus studied him, but Harry made no move to start speaking, and so Remus simply turned back to the second year papers he was grading. They really were dreadful, and he would have to go over simple stunning and disarming spells again, but maybe a second try would help them all. 

“Professor,” Harry started again. “You were good friends.” 

Remus froze, setting down his quill. If this was about Sirius again, Remus didn’t know if he could handle it. 

“With my parents,” Harry added quickly, and Remus let out an imperceptible breath. Harry hesitated still more, before blurting out, “Professor, were they happy? Before they died, were they happy?” 

Remus could feel his eyes turn down, lips drooping slightly as he looked at Harry. The kid was so young. He was thirteen years old and wondering about answers to questions no one should have to ask. Harry was staring at him, breath caught in his throat, like he was scared of the answer, and if the places had been switched, Remus would be too. 

“Harry,” Remus said softly. “They were happy. Those were dark times, there was a war going on, and people were going missing or being killed, and it felt like the world was falling apart more and more every day. But your parents, they were the light within it all. James and Lily always knew what to say, however worn down the days got. They were a family, and they loved you so much. More than anything.” 

Harry took a trembling breath. “I just… I get scared sometimes. That they regret everything. They died because of me.” 

“No,” Remus said, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault, Harry, you did nothing wrong. James and Lily loved you, and they had no regrets about that. They just… put their trust in the wrong person. We all did.” 

Harry sighed, not meeting his eyes, instead studying the papers on his desks. “When I hear her screaming-- when the Dementors come, I mean-- I can’t help but think that she died for nothing. I’m just… I’m just a kid. I can’t ever repay them.” 

Remus studied Harry for a moment, watching the dead expression he was so carefully putting together, the one that would crack at the slightest touch. 

“It’s not about repaying them, or trying to give something back that you don’t have,” Remus said softly. “It’s about living the life they gave you. They sacrificed themselves so you could live, and be happy in a better world. You don’t need to be anything more than who you are to make them proud.” 

“I guess,” Harry whispered. His voice caught on the words, and Remus could see a glittering tear bloom at the corner of his eye. Harry wiped it away quickly, sinking even deeper into himself. 

“They would be proud,” Remus said, voice stronger this time, “of who you are today. You’ve made them proud a hundred times over, I promise you that.” 

Harry looked up at him, and Remus could see the rings under his eyes, the exhaustion spelled throughout his posture. He didn’t want to think about how much sleep Harry had been losing over this. 

“They’d be happy, you think? If they met me today?” 

“Yes,” Remus said, thinking not of James and Lily, but of Sirius, who would eventually, Remus was sure, meet Harry and be less proud than hateful. “They would be.”


	6. the lovers (reversed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild sexual content right at beginning, not a big deal to skim over :)

Using his father’s Invisibility Cloak for what Remus was sure was not the intended usage, James had stolen some Beetle Berry Whiskey and brought it back up to the sixth year Gryffindor boys dormitory. He had raised his prize over all of the rest of them, grinning wide in a way that reminded Remus vaguely of a skeleton. 

“In celebration,” James said, “of the new school year, and of Moony’s newest Prefect badge.” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Considering Moony’s newest Prefect badge, I should probably stop you from doing this.”

“You wouldn’t,” James said, pouting. “Don’t use your newfound power to hurt me, Remus.” 

“You know I won’t,” Remus said. He sighed, reaching out for the bottle. “But I’m not going to ignore the big things. I intend on being a good Prefect.” 

“You will be,” Peter said, grinning and taking the bottle from him. “Just reprimand students doing anything you can imagine James and Sirius doing, and you’ll be nailing it.” 

Remus laughed at that, feeling the burn of the alcohol settle in his stomach. “That’s a foolproof plan.” 

“I’m offended,” Sirius said, coming up the stairs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I heard my name and I am pre-offended.” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “We’re just saying how much we love you.” 

“Very much, I imagine,” Sirius said. He tapped James on the shoulder, and James moved to the side to make room between him and Remus. Sirius grinned, planting a kiss on the top of Remus’ head, and then to James’ cheek and then blowing a kiss to Peter. Always with the kisses, Remus thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes another time. 

“Very much,” Peter confirmed, dodging James’ hand as he tried to ruffle Peter’s hair. Now that they were older, and the growth spurts were pretty much over, James took every chance to remind Peter and Sirius that they were below average height. Not that James was particularly tall himself, just taller than the two of them. 

“Good,” Sirius said. He settled into the spot he had made for himself, motioning for James to hand him the whiskey. “It’s been a long summer, my friends, and I need a drink.” 

Remus smiled at him, and felt something more than the alcohol burn in his stomach. 

They were drunk in what felt like no time at all, a buzz running under all of Remus’ thoughts and a blur at his eyes that made him stumble when he tried to get to bed. James and Peter had already passed out, and he and Sirius were the only ones awake. 

When Remus got to his bed, he tried to collapse under the covers but Sirius had already claimed a spot there. 

“Shove off,” Remus muttered, pushing gently at Sirius. “This ‘s my bed.” 

“No,” Sirius muttered, even quieter. He shoved his face into the pillow. “Been dreamin’ bout being back for two months, I want to be with someone tonight.” 

Remus swallowed, electricity shooting down his veins until the bottoms of his feet burned and his palms itched and everything in his body was urging him to lay next to Sirius. “You’ll have me for the rest of the year,” he managed to stutter out, “go sleep in your own bed.” 

Sirius turned away from the pillow, his eyes half shut and his lips slick. “Wanna be close,” he whispered, and before he could regret it, Remus climbed into bed with him. 

Remus swallowed, trying to keep the burning in his skin to a minimum, but Sirius pressed their bodies together, tangling his leg in between Remus’ legs, and Remus felt a churning in his gut that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. He took slow, shallow breaths, trying to keep the very drunk Sirius from realizing just how affected by this touch he was, but Remus was just as drunk and his breaths came heavy. 

“Wanna kiss you,” Sirius whispered, moving closer. “Always wanted to kiss you, Re.” 

Remus took another shuddering breath. Sirius moved his arm over Remus’ waist, and Remus forgot how to take another breath. “You could always just ask.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Sirius asked, and it was the only clear sound in the hazy film between the world and Remus’ mind. 

“Yes,” Remus said, watching Sirius watch him. “Always.” 

Sirius moved forward in a sudden motion, their lips meeting in the distance between them, wet and cold and it all seemed to fit perfectly. There was something beautiful about being human and human together, their lips touching, Sirius moving, pushing Remus under and straddling his waist, lying on top of him. They kissed and Remus forgot about the other two bodies in the room, forgot about the whiskey bottles lying under the bed, forgot about the burning in his gut, forgot about everything except for: Sirius, kissing him. 

Sirius pressed harder against his lips for another moment before pulling away. Remus stared up at him, not sure if he was more drunk on whiskey or that kiss.

“This okay?” Sirius asked. Remus nodded, full and sure, and Sirius moved down again, pressing a wet kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth, then moving his lips to his cheek, his chin, his neck, his collarbone.

“Off,” Sirius whispered, tugging at his shirt, and Remus was all too happy to oblige. He pulled his shirt off, then watched, trying to keep his breathing even as Sirius pressed more kisses to his neck, working his way down Remus’ chest, lips never seeming to tire of skin, breath never seeming to stop. Remus kept his eyes on Sirius, moving a hand to Sirius’ back, to his hair, to cupping his face. 

“Fuck, Re,” Sirius whispered again, louder this time, as if he weren’t sure if Remus could hear him. “You’re beautiful, beautiful, been dreaming of you so long.” 

“Been dreaming,” Remus stuttered out, breath hitching as Sirius tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. “Siri-- ”

“This okay?” Sirius asked again, tugging at his pants and his underwear and pressing another kiss to his skin. His lips were cold and Remus twitched under his touch. “You can say no.” 

“Good,” Remus managed to say. “This is good, fuck, Sirius, been dreaming of you too.” 

Remus could feel Sirius smiled against his skin, but then he couldn’t think, could think of anything except Sirius and his touch and the whisper of his hands against Remus’ waist, the soft brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath between Remus’ legs. He had been dreaming of Sirius for so long, but they weren’t dreams people were supposed to talk about, weren’t dreams he would ever tell Sirius. 

But this-- this was real, and Remus bucked his hips involuntarily against Sirius’ mouth and Sirius only smiled wider, running his hand in circles across Remus’ hipbone. Remus tangled his hands in Sirius' hair, it had grown longer over the summer, and if Remus pulled just slightly, Sirius groaned in a way that Remus had never heard before, but couldn’t quite get enough of. 

The aching in his lungs was there, whether from drink or from Sirius, but Remus managed to forget it as Sirius put their hands together, as Sirius kissed his scars, lips wet, as they met again mouth to mouth, and this was more than Remus had ever dreamt. Lying there with Sirius, the half moon on his pale skin, Remus thought he would never be lonely again. 

When they finished, Sirius fell into Remus’ arms, laying on top of his chest, every other movement forgotten as Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius. Sirius’ breath evened out quickly, his lips parted as he fell into sleep. Remus could taste the alcohol on his breath, but his thoughts were too burnt out to think about what would happen in the morning. 

When Remus woke up, he was alone, curled under the sheets, sticky and cold. The others must have gone down to breakfast, leaving him alone to clean up the dormitory-- trashed after their drunken night-- and shower in cold water.

He easily Vanished any evidence of underage drinking, cleaned up his sheets and bed nearly without thinking about it. After his shower, though, he sat on the bed, touching his lips gingerly. Had Sirius actually kissed him last night? Or was that all a drunken phantom, or an escapade Sirius wouldn’t acknowledge in the morning? 

Remus took a deep breath. He got dressed and went to classes, and when Sirius smiled at him in Potions, he smiled back. They didn’t get a chance to be alone again until a few nights later, studying together in the library. James and Peter had gone off to steal something from the supplies closets, leaving the other two to do homework. Or, at least, Remus was doing homework, and Sirius appeared to be working on a very detailed drawing of a hippogriff. Possibly it was a shoe, Remus wasn’t quite sure. 

“Do you remember?” Remus asked, voice so quiet it was almost a part of the silence. 

Sirius looked up at Remus, then back down at his drawing. He tugged at the feathers on his quill, pulling out strands and dropping them against the desk. Finally, after several moments of Remus’ heart stopping, he just said, “We were drunk. You don’t have to-- to pretend.” 

“Right,” Remus said, forgetting to exhale and tripping over the word. “Right.” 

“Right,” Sirius said. He tugged harder at the quill and the whole thing snapped in half. “I’m going to-- I’m going to go.” 

“Right,” Remus repeated, as if he had forgotten all other words. 

He watched in silence as Sirius packed up his things and left the library, tripping over a stray chair and cursing until his voice cracked and Madam Pince hit him with a book. Right. There had never been anything more to it. They were drunk. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself, whispering it internally again and again and again until he almost believed it. 

He couldn’t avoid Sirius, and didn’t want to anyway, so he just repeated his mantra in silence, trying not to flinch at every spare touch. They would go back to normal eventually, find a rhythm again, but for now, it didn’t mean anything. 

Remus didn’t know if anything Sirius had ever said meant anything, if the quiet drumbeat of their hearts were ever in unison, or if Sirius was always just to the left of honest. He thought they had understood each other in a way, despite all of their other lies. But he watched other groups of friends now, as a professor, watched them toss smiles and tell each other their secrets, and wondered if Sirius had ever truly been a friend. 

He had to have been. He had to. 

Remus took a breath, chanting those words silently, again and again. They had loved each other, once. Remus didn’t know what the tipping point was, but they had loved each other. 

Hermione and Ron were lingering at the edge of the classroom after class, as if waiting for Remus to notice them. He glanced from his desk to the trio, unsure what they would want. They were two of his favorite students, but they had never come to his office without Harry in tow. 

“Professor,” Hermione started, clearly unsure. She was bright and talented, but it was in moments like this that her age showed. “Can we talk? Is now okay?” 

“Sure,” Remus said, as he always told students. He leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing arms. “How may I help you two?” 

Hermione glanced at Ron. “We’re worried about Harry,” she said after Ron gave her a soft nudge. 

“How so?” Remus asked, voice steady. 

“We think he’s going to go after Sirius Black,” Ron blurted out. Hermione gave him a sharp look, but he didn’t look ashamed. 

Remus nodded slowly. “Have you told McGonagall? She is, of course, your Head of House.” 

Hermione shook her head. “Harry doesn’t-- she’ll just try to keep him on lockdown, and that’ll just make him worse. I know him, Professor, and he’s-- ”

“Unstable,” Ron finished for her. Hermione shot him another look, but didn’t appear all that annoyed by it. 

Remus took a breath, studying the two as they shifted uncomfortably. “What Harry needs now, I think, is friendship. People who will be there for him, tell him it’ll be alright. I don’t think he needs a professor breathing down his neck.” 

Ron nodded, but didn’t look ready to drop the subject. “We’re just worried.” 

“As you should be,” Remus said with a wry smile. “This has been a hard year for everyone. I’ll keep an eye on him, Ron, but your job as friends, right now, is to just be there.” 

“Okay,” Hermione said in a small voice. “Professor, one more thing, I-- you’re the best Defense professor we’ve had.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, a real smile now on his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, but you three are my favorite students.” 

Ron grinned at this, as if he weren’t used to being the favorite of anything, and Hermione smiled too, more proud than anything. 

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said. “We better be going then.” 

“Have a nice night you two,” Remus told them as they exited the classroom. Again, he found himself thinking how lucky Harry was to have friends that cared so much. It made him happy for Harry, on one hand, but on the other, it just made him miss his own friends that much more. 

Dinner that night was a somber event. Midterms were coming up, and it didn’t seem like anyone was happy about it, whether teacher or student. The only one grinning throughout it all was Dumbledore, who seemed incredibly pleased that someone-- who they all knew to be the Weasley twins-- had charmed his robes to change colors every time he said the word “hello.” It reminded Remus of another prank, another time, another set of brothers, but he refused to dwell on old memories.

As he watched from the staff table at the front, students ate between glances at books and comparing notes, laughing every now and then over a spelling mistake. It reminded him of old times, of his constant studying, and Sirius’ bored, lackluster imitation of studying.

“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?” McGonagall asked, looking over at him. She had finished her own dinner, and was now just waiting for Professor Sprout to be done so they could go on their nightly walk.

Remus turned to her, slightly startled. “Who?” 

“Sirius,” she said, as if there were no one else. She smiled at him, thin lipped and tired, and pointed down to where Ron was bugging Hermione, who was glued to her books. “They remind me of you two.” 

Remus shook his head. “Except Ron isn’t a traitor, a murderer.” 

“No,” McGonagall conceded. “But she’d love him if he was, see?” 

Hermione was turning, scolding Ron for not studying, but there was a lightness to the rolled eyes that did remind Remus of himself. He and Harry were both laughing, and Hermione was clearly trying not to laugh as well. She put the book down to take a bite of treacle tart, and Ron stole it from her, holding it above his head as she tried to grab it. 

“I don’t love him,” Remus finally said, tearing his eyes away from the trio. 

But when he turned back to his side, McGonagall had already left. Remus took a long breath, looking at his own uneaten dinner. He made his excuses quietly, and then went back to his office. Tonight would be the first of his lessons with Harry, and he wanted to be prepared. 

In his office, he found the trunk with a Boggart, ready to turn into a Dementor as soon as Harry stood in front of it. Remus could hear the Boggart clanging around in the trunk, and he resisted the urge to open it and shut the thing up before Harry even got there. He knew what his Boggart would be, and though it had changed form over the years, it had always involved the wolf. His parents bitten by a werewolf, his friends killed with claw marks through their chests, a dog panting as it bled out from a sharp bite in its neck, the moon, cold and white and full. 

He didn’t need to see any of that again. 

Stuffing his wand in his robes, Remus took the trunk and dragged it into the History of Magic classroom, where Harry was already waiting. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked as Remus dropped the trunk onto Professor Binns’ empty desk. 

“Boggart,” Remus answered. He turned to face Harry. “It’s the closest we’ll get to a real Dementor. I didn’t fancy bringing one in here.” 

Harry nodded, and Remus smiled at the disguised relief. 

“It’ll turn into a Dementor when you see it, so we’ll practice on that,” Remus continued. “Now the spell I’m going to teach you is very advanced magic, well beyond O.W.L levels, so don’t worry if you can’t get it. Many are never able to do it.” 

“What is it?” 

Remus tapped the trunk absentmindedly with his wand, studying Harry’s eager expression. “It’s called the Patronus Charm. It acts as a guardian to the user, a kind of shield. It’s made up of positive forces, so the Dementors are drawn to it, but as it doesn’t feel despair, it can’t be hurt by them, and just drives them away.” 

“What does it look like?” Harry asked, sitting on top of one of the desks. His tie was loose and his glasses crooked, and Remus smiled at Harry, reminded again of how he was only a child.

“It looks different to every wizard who casts the spell,” Remus said, trying not to feel bitter about it. “It supposedly represents things about the wizard that they often don’t know themselves. Some say that true lovers have compatible Patronuses.” 

“What’s yours?” Harry asked. 

He didn’t mean any harm by it, Remus knew that, but he flinched anyways. Harry bit his lip, concerned that he had crossed the line. Remus shook off the feeling. “I prefer to cast a non-corporeal one.” 

“What’s a-- ”

“There are two forms,” Remus said. “Corporeal, which is said to take the animal shape of your soul, and non-corporeal, which is nearly literally a silver shield. Non-corporeal ones are easier to cast, but also are useful when you don’t want people to know your corporeal form.” 

Harry nodded, and Remus could see a question brewing, but he clearly didn’t want to ask it. “How do you conjure it?” 

“An incantation,” Remus answered, “that only works if you are concentrating on a single happy memory. It has to be one of the happiest memories you have, and you must concentrate on it with all your might. See, it’s remembering happiness in face of the darkness that keeps us safe.” 

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “What’s the incantation?” 

“Expecto Patronum,” Remus answered. “Move your wand like this-- a circle and a flick-- and say the words.” 

Harry nodded, pulling out his own wand. He gave the movement a try, mimicking Remus’ slow circle and pushing forward as if imagining a shield flowing through. Harry was more talented than Remus probably gave him credit for. 

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry repeated, moving his wand in a faster, more comfortable motion. “Expecto patrono-- no, patronum-- sorry.” 

“Take your time, you’re doing well,” Remus assured him. “Now, concentrate very hard on a happy memory. Got one?” 

It took Harry a minute to consider before nodding again, and the same minute for Remus to wonder how many happy memories Harry actually had. He had had a hard life, Remus knew, but he hoped there was still enough happiness somewhere there. 

“Focus all of your energy on the memory,” Remus instructed, “and say the incantation.” 

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry said, voice strong, moving his wand in a natural, quick movement. A silver mist shot from the wand, swirling in a circle before disappearing. Harry laughed, looking back at Remus. “Did you see that?” 

“Very good,” Remus said, grinning. “Right, then, are you ready to try it on the Boggart?” 

Harry took a deep breath, then smiled at Remus. “Ready.” 

“Wand up,” Remus instructed, taking only a brief glance to make sure Harry was standing in front of the trunk. Then he tapped the top with his wand, a small whisper under the breath enough to make the trunk fly open, and the Dementor came crawling out. 

It moved slowly, a freezing cold dripping over the room, the candles flickering and then finally going out. The Dementor moved to its full height, black, shrivelled and mummified hands reaching out. 

“Your wand, Harry,” Remus warned, fighting off the cold growing in his own heart. James floated to the back of his mind, and Remus gripping onto the memory tightly. 

“Expecto-- ” Harry tried, “Expecto Patro-- Expecto Patronum!” 

But it wasn’t enough, and the Dementor came closer, an awful hissing, moaning sound, and Harry collapsed. 

“Harry!” Remus yelled, forgetting all his own fears. He stepped in front of the Boggart, throwing his arms out like he was the shield. The Boggart seemed to grin as it cracked and changed form, back to the silver and weeping moon. “Riddikulus!” 

The Boggart flew back into the trunk, and Remus took a heaving breath before turning back to Harry. He was cold on the ground, eyes squeezed shut, and in the darkness, seemed like a ghost. Remus waved his wand, bringing the candles back to life and raising the warmth of the room slightly. Now that the pseudo-Dementor was gone, the room seemed that much safer. 

Remus sat at Harry’s side, tapping his wand against his chest. Harry shot back up again, eyes wild. He calmed after only a moment, remembering where he was. 

“Chocolate,” Remus said, handing him a Chocolate Frog. “The card should be in there as well, if you collect those.” 

Harry nodded, opening the package in stiff, jolting movements. He inspected the card as he broke off the frog’s leg and began to eat it slowly. “I give them to Ron-- oh, it’s Hesper Starkey. Don’t think he has one of these yet.”

“Potionmaster, yes?” Remus asked, an amused smile on his face, a joke there that Harry wasn’t in on. “Studied the effects of the moon phases on potions. Had some good points, if you read her 1963 essay in Witch Weekly. Bit of a boring speaker, though.” 

“You knew her?” 

Remus shook his head. “No, I’ve just read some of her essays. She spoke at graduation my first year, and people were excited about it because she was on the cards, so I took an interest.” 

Harry nodded, biting into another leg of the frog. “I haven’t been to any graduations here.” 

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve been pretty busy during that time of year.” 

Harry smiled, chuckling slightly. He stared at the card, smiling as Hesper walked away, giving him a wink before she went. “I suppose I’ve been busy.” 

“You’re not missing out on that much,” Remus assured him. “It’s really just a bunch of names being read and diplomas given out. If you’re lucky, someone gets illegal fireworks and causes a bit of a commotion.” 

“Does that happen often?” 

“Nah,” Remus said, smiling for real now. He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “That was just your father messing around at our graduation.” 

Harry smiled at him, putting the card down and finishing the frog. “Did he do that a lot?” 

“Oh yes,” Remus said. He could feel his cheeks heat up, thinking about the trouble the four of them had gotten into. “He was always planning some prank or another. Most of them broke at least a dozen school rules at once, but the more petty rules he broke, the prouder he was.” 

“Snape used to tell me he had a ‘blatant disregard for the rules.’” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say blatant,” Remus told Harry. He turned his wand around in his fist, wondering where the time had gone. “There were rules he respected, and rules that he felt were a little more… lenient.” 

“Lenient, sir?” 

Remus shrugged. “No use of magic allowed in the corridors, so he would cast harmless charms from classrooms into the corridors. No swimming in the lake, and well, it’s not swimming if you’re just standing in the water. You have to be in bed by ten, but there’s no rule that you can’t levitate your bed down to the common room at 10:01pm. The Restricted Section is only restricted to those who can’t fake a signature. That kind of thing.” 

“I think I would have liked him,” Harry said softly. 

“I think you would have too,” Remus said, in an equally soft voice. 

“I want to try again.” Harry took a breath, steadying himself, and then stood up. “I’m ready.” 

Remus nodded, standing up as well, moving over to the trunk. “Try a stronger memory this time, the last one didn’t seem to be enough.” 

Harry nodded, readying his wand and taking a stance. “Got it.” 

“Remember,” Remus said, “Expecto Patronum. Here we go.” 

With a flick of his wand, the trunk opened again. The Dementor moved slowly out of the trunk, taking the light and warmth with it, creeping hands ready to grab, a hunger in its whispers as it moved towards Harry. 

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry yelled, moving his wand in a circular motion. “Expecto-- Expecto Patro-- ”

The Dementor was getting closer, and Remus pulled out his wand, ready to jump in if necessary. Harry tried again, but his voice cracked and the Dementor didn’t budge. Harry stumbled backwards, wand faltering as darkness took over and he fell to the floor. 

Remus cursed, jumping in front of Harry again, wand at the ready. There was a crack, and the moon rose, a faint howling in his ears. 

“Riddikulus!” Remus shouted, thinking of a silver balloon shooting through the air. There was a crack, but the Boggart wasn’t flung back into the trunk, instead morphing again. 

Not to the moon or variation of, this time, but to Sirius Black, eyes hollow and a cracked smile on his lips. Remus faltered, staring at him, watching his eyes burn into Remus. He smiled bigger, wider, a name on his breath, a promise. 

“Remus,” Sirius Black said, voice dark and wracked with misuse. “I killed them, James and Lily and Peter, and I’m coming for you next, Re. I’ll kill you like I did Peter.” 

Remus swallowed, jerking his wand in what he thought was the right motion, but everything was frozen and he forgot all the tricks he had worked so carefully to build. Sirius, the broken madman from Azkaban, was staring back at him, the smile ever growing until his face began to crack, lips parting farther than a mouth ever should, maggots beginning to crawl from his nose to his tongue. 

“Remus,” Sirius said again, and his voice was the one Remus had known so long ago. “I never loved you. You’re a monster, Remus. How could I?” 

“How could you?” Remus growled. “Riddikulus!” 

There was a crack, and Remus banished the Boggart back to the trunk, breath heavy. There would be time to deal with this later, he told himself, and he turned back to Harry. But Harry wasn’t passed out as Remus had assumed him to be, but leaning against a desk, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Harry,” Remus said softly, though he wasn’t sure where he was going next.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest, wand on the ground. He didn’t meet Remus’ gaze. “You knew him.” 

“Yes,” Remus said, exhaling the confession like it was just another breath. Harry had already known this, but there was a different light to it now. He sat down across from Harry, putting his own wand on the ground next to him. “I knew him.” 

“You were friends with him,” Harry said, just listing the facts he thought knew and waiting, hoping for Remus to correct him. 

“I was,” Remus said. “He and James and Peter. They were my best friends growing up.” 

“And now?” 

Remus shrugged, though it pained him to do so. “They’re all gone, now.” 

If James and Peter were his best friends, Remus thought maybe Sirius was more than that. When the two were fourteen years old, they were more enveloped in each other than any fourteen year olds had a right to be. They had grown up together, knew every inch of each other in a way more intimate than couples could be. Though, of course, there was nothing romantic about it. 

But the way they were sitting together that one day, under the tree by the Black Lake, Sirius with his head in Remus’ lap, telling a story about the day before, that felt more intimate than Remus thought anything else would ever feel. Though they were talking about nothing important, there was a vulnerability there-- Sirius with his throat exposed and his smile open and his laugh free, Remus with his hands running through black hair and his words light, a cramp in his leg and no will to move it. 

“I told her,” Sirius said, “you shouldn’t bother with cutting the bezoar, you should just shove it down the throat.” 

“Right,” Remus said, not really listening. He liked looking at Sirius’ face, studying the laughter lines at his eyes, the remnants of a smile at his lips, the soft grey of his eyes.

“Right?” Sirius exclaimed, looking for some validation. 

Remus grinned and nodded. “Absolutely.” 

“Thanks, Re.” 

Sirius smiled up at him, reaching a hand up to touch Remus’ cheek. It was a softer touch than Remus ever took from anyone, but from Sirius it seemed different. It was easy, with him, to take touch and let it warm him from the inside out. Remus closed his eyes, leaning into Sirius’ palm. 

“Hey, Remus.” 

Remus opened his eyes slowly. “Yes, Sirius?” 

“You know how I think you’re amazing?” 

“If you’re begging to copy my Potions homework again-- ”

“I’m not!” Sirius protested, laughing. He dropped his hand, coming to rest it over his stomach. Remus tracked the rise and fall of his chest, finding himself falling in line with the rhythm. “I’m not, I swear.” 

“Okay,” Remus said, “then sure, I know how you think I’m amazing.” 

Sirius nodded. “Right, so anyways, ditch classes with me today.” 

“I’m already doing that, Sirius. I would think you would notice.” 

“No, I know,” Sirius sat, sitting up. He moved closer to Remus so that their bodies were still touching, Sirius bumping his head against Remus’ shoulder. “But do it all day.” 

“Sure,” Remus said, smiling. He would always have done anything for Sirius. He moved his right hand to run it through Sirius’ hair, tugging slightly. “Your hair’s getting long.” 

“I like it,” Sirius said, ducking away from Remus’ touch. He had the smile of a troublemaker, the kind of smile that made Professors sigh preemptively when they found out which classes he would be in. “Besides, it makes my mom angry, and that’s reason enough to do anything.” 

“Fair point,” Remus conceded. He dropped his hand, leaning back against the tree. Sirius leaned back into his lap, and the touch crumpled up a fire in his stomach. Sirius and all of his love always made Remus feel something more than he was supposed to. “I’m probably missing so much in Charms right now.” 

“Oh shush,” Sirius said, tapping his shoulder. “Stop thinking about school for two seconds and talk to me.” 

Remus smiled down at Sirius, and the memory, and sighed. He was sitting, just then, at his office desk, staring down at a book of grades. His students were all doing surprisingly well, despite how distracted Remus felt himself getting. His back ached from the full moon and his wrist ached from the grading and his eyes ached from the late nights and everything in him longed for easier days. 

“You’re losing your touch, Moony,” James Potter said beside him. Remus closed his eyes, hanging onto the voice. “Tut tut, less than a 9/10? I’m ashamed of you.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Peter said, another ghost behind him. “When was the last time you got an 8/10?” 

“Last week!” James said indignantly. 

Remus smiled at the two of them, the moment so clear and present in his mind that he forgot about everything else that mattered. He could feel Peter’s hand on his shoulder, James ruffling his hair, smiling that lopsided grin, teeth glinting in the light. He could feel a kiss pressed to his temple, in the same spot Sirius always found-- just at his hairline, to the side of his eye, soft and cold. A promise.


	7. interlude / upright death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a brief, theoretical reference to suicidal thoughts in this chapter. if you need to do so, stop when remus says "it would have been my fault" and begin again at "sirius, to his credit, didn’t try to say anything else"

Remus stood by the window, watching as the sunny day turned into rain, turned into a thick fog masking everything past the next footprint. It was a bleary night, the kind that sent a draft through the corridors that made even the ghosts shiver. 

“I always liked the fog,” Remus said, mostly to himself. 

“Me too,” Sirius said, voice catching somewhere along the way. He was fifteen, and hadn’t fully grown into his height yet, holding his knees to his chest as he sat on the couch, trying to keep himself as small as possible. It looked like, if Sirius were to move even slightly, he would break into a thousand pieces. He had never looked younger, but there had never been more lines, more worry in the grim twitch of his mouth as he spoke. 

Remus sat down across from Sirius, pulling one knee against his chest. He didn’t quite fit this way, the summer having turned him into all lanky limbs and stretch marks. “Sirius.” 

Sirius looked up at his name, and Remus could tell he was bracing himself for the worst. He didn’t say anything. 

“You know what my worst fear is?” Remus asked, voice a whisper. 

It was two in the morning in the common room, and there was no one around except for the two of them. But still, he whispered, as if he didn’t want to hear his own words. Sirius swallowed, trying to meet Remus’ eyes in some semblance of bravery. 

“My worst fear,” Remus said, not bothering to wait for a response, “is the wolf hurting someone. My parents. My friends. Anyone. Any stranger off the street. Snape.” 

Sirius inhaled sharply, dropping his eyes. He pulled his knees in tighter to his chest, gripping his wrist with the other hand and trying very, very carefully, to breathe. 

“It’s my worst fear,” Remus continued. “It’s what my Boggart becomes. Me, turning into a wolf and hurting someone. And you-- fuck, Sirius!” 

His voice was suddenly loud, and it made his hands shake, but he was angry and he hadn’t screamed or cried or done anything about it but sit with this dry, numb feeling, as if nothing around him was real. He stood, his breaths only shudders as he turned around, paced around the chair. 

“Jesus,” Remus said, voice breaking. “You took that, you took my worst nightmare, and you turned it into a prank. To hurt someone. To kill them, Sirius, don’t you understand? He would have died and it would have been my fault.” 

Sirius had kept his eyes downcast through the rest of Remus’ breaking, but he looked up at that. “It wouldn’t have been your-- ”

“Yes, it would have!” Remus snapped. “Christ, Sirius, you don’t understand anything-- don’t you understand what I am? What they do to-- to things like me when kids start dying? And God, why does it have to be about that? Don’t you-- the fucking technicalities wouldn’t have mattered because I would have killed myself if the mob didn’t do it first.” 

Sirius went still, staring up at Remus, lips in a thin line. Remus watched him, breathing heavy, trying to find the remnant of the person Remus had trusted so closely, held so close to his heart. 

“I would have,” Remus said, voice hard, as if Sirius didn’t understand the first time. “I would rather die than hurt anyone else, and I thought you knew that. But you-- you didn’t, you took that and you used me as a weapon.” 

Sirius, to his credit, didn’t try to say anything else. Remus took a deep breath, then he sat back down in the chair across from Sirius and closed his eyes. It had been two weeks since the incident, but Remus thought he could still see the hollowed out moon behind his eyelids. Maybe it had always been there, and the past few months of transformations with his friends had only dulled it. But Remus saw it all too clearly now, what a monster he actually was, no matter how he spun the tale. 

“I just-- why would you?” Remus asked, something broken in his voice, begging for a reason, begging for some way to understand what was happening. 

Sirius had been one of the first people to ever accept him for who he was, to take him in fully, knowing his biggest secret, and to love him anyways. Except this, this betrayal, it stung worse than rejection ever would have. 

Sirius looked up at him, and Remus felt a sickening pride when he saw tears slipping down his cheek and over his lips. 

“Do you really want to know?” Sirius asked quietly. “You can just keep being mad at me, if you want.” 

Remus stared at him, jaw set. “Tell me.” 

“He knew,” Sirius said, so quiet it almost left them in a hallowed silence. “He knew you were a werewolf and he was going to expose you.” 

“So you thought it better for me to kill him.” 

“I didn’t say it was a good reason,” Sirius said miserably. “I panicked. He was trying to get you, all of us, expelled. I just-- I needed to keep the secret at all costs. I didn’t think it through.” 

“You don’t think a lot of things through,” Remus said, voice still hard. 

The fire was still burning in his gut, but Sirius had looked this miserable for two weeks and the coward in Remus couldn’t punish him any longer. The anger, the wolf, wanted to eat at Sirius more, tell him just how broken and fucked up the whole situation was, but Remus couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had always been afraid of hurting Sirius Black, and this was just another form of cruelty. 

“I don’t,” Sirius agreed. He took a deep breath. “You have every right to hate me, and I won’t blame you for it. I-- I should have gotten expelled. Dumbledore should have kicked me out. But he didn’t, and I’m going to try to stay out of your way, but-- ”

“Stop,” Remus said, voice cracking. “I’m-- I’m not forgiving you, not yet. But you don’t have to avoid anyone.” 

Sirius stared at him, his face pale in the darkness. The flickering shadows burned red in the fireplace and Remus thought this moment probably felt the same as sticking his bare hand in the embers, trying to burn off the memory of Sirius’ words on his skin. 

“You’ve been sleeping on the couch for two weeks,” Remus said, voice shaky. He stood up, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater. “Your neck must hurt. Come upstairs.” 

“Together?” Sirius asked. He said it like a promise that he had broken, that he was trying to stitch back together. That was, in a way, exactly what the word was-- a broken promise. Again, stronger this time, Sirius asked, “Together?” 

“Yes,” Remus murmured, “I think so.” 

At the window, Remus rubbed his palms together, watching rain pour down the glass panes, the same way it had done so many times before. It was so quiet in his new room, not anything like his school years had been. Even in the quietest moments, there had been three other heartbeats. Even in sleep, James was muttering and Peter was rolling over and Sirius was breathing heavy.

It had been strange, at first, to never be alone. Remus found himself always changing in the bathroom after the others had all gone down to breakfast in order to hide his scars. He couldn’t fall asleep with the sound of James talking nonsense into his pillow. The pillow wasn’t hard enough, the mattress creaked when he moved. 

But it wasn’t hard to get used to, either. He couldn’t hide his scars forever, and eventually he started changing in front of the others, and they all politely refused to comment. James’ mutterings became white noise leading Remus into his next dream, the sound of silence suddenly disconcerting because it meant James wasn’t there. The pillow molded to his head and Remus learned to stay still while he slept. 

During summers, Remus seemed to forget how to sleep. He sat in his bedroom in silence, staring up at the ceiling. When he was a kid, he used to find shapes out of the cracks in the plaster-- a rabbit, a star, a cat. Now, all he could see was the ceiling and the distinctive lack of Gryffindor’s burnt wood panels. 

His father, Lyall, sat with him in bed on the first night of summer break his first year. Remus had been sending letters all year long, keeping his parents updated on everything he did. Hope and Lyall Lupin were imposing, strict figures, but it was all for the sake of Remus’ safety, and he didn’t know any form of love aside from protection. 

“Did you have fun?” Lyall asked, voice low and commanding. 

Remus smiled. “I loved it. I made friends, Dad.” 

It was the first time that Remus had said it and it had been true. He had never been allowed near other children before, but at Hogwarts, he was just another student, another face in a crowd he had never seen before. It was strange to think that out of everyone there-- because James and Sirius could have had the pick of the litter-- people had chosen him to be their friend. 

“Their names are James and Sirius and Peter,” Remus said, “and they’re wonderful.” 

Lyall nodded with a small smile on his face. He had a long scar at his neck where Remus had scratched him on a bad night, but with the shadows in his bedroom, Remus could pretend it didn’t exist. 

“And you’re being careful?” Lyall asked, looking at Remus. He had a hand on Remus’ leg, the weight strange after so many months apart. 

“Of course,” Remus assured him. “They don’t know anything.” 

Lyall licked his lips, examining his son closely. He had always been good at telling when people were lying, that was how he had gotten his job at the Ministry. That was also what had gotten Remus bitten. Remus didn’t blame him for it, but sometimes his father got that strange, forlorn expression, as if he regretted having a son at all. 

“Secrets keep you safe,” Lyall finally said. “You know that.” 

Remus nodded, pulling the blankets closer to his chin. “I know.” 

Except Remus wasn’t good at keeping secrets, he never had been. With every twist of a smile and flinch of a joke, Remus gave away another piece of himself to the rest of the world. James, Sirius, and Peter figured out he was a werewolf in their second year, after months of noticing his clockwork illnesses, rapidly increasing scars, and his tension whenever the topic came up. They were brave enough to ask him about it, and braver to accept him. 

“Remus,” Peter had said breathlessly, practically running as he dragged Remus towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. “Hurry up, come on.” 

Remus ran with him, clutching tightly to his books, nearly dropping them as he stumbled over a rock. “Peter, what’s happening?” 

They came to a sudden stop at the edge of the forest, where Peter slowed down to a walking pace. He didn’t lead Remus very far in, just until the canopy of leaves had almost shrouded the sunlight from the clearing they found themselves in. 

“James?” Remus asked, glancing between his friends. “Sirius? What’s going on?” 

Sirius had grinned, smiling wider than Remus had thought possible, and the brightness in his eyes seemed to outweigh whatever nervous anticipation Remus felt. 

“We have a surprise,” James said, “and we’re ready to show you. We’ve been working on it since second year.” 

“What?” Remus asked, frowning. His heart was still beating too fast from the run there, and he held a little tighter to his canvas bag. “I don’t understand.” 

“We’ve been working on it since we found out about your furry little problem,” James said, smirking. He looked prouder than any other time Remus had seen him, and in the past five years, James had found a lot of moments to be proud of. 

Remus looked between them all, eyes drifting between Peter as he bounced on the tips of his toes, and Sirius as he grinned, and James as he tried to fumble through an explanation that made sense. “I don’t understand.” 

“Werewolves are only dangerous to humans,” James said, a laugh sneaking into his voice. “So we thought, well we don’t need to be human.” 

“What?” 

Sirius laughed out loud this time. “Let us show you, Re.” 

Watching the three of them transform for the first time, Remus thought he might cry. Their skin shifted and Remus thought he heard a bone crack as they stumbled through the transformation. They hadn’t fully gotten the hang of it yet, and Peter just stood there for a long minute, concentrating so hard his face was beginning to burn red. 

But their bodies melted from human to animal, hair thinning and limbs extending, Peter shrinking. It took only a moment before Remus was standing there, jaw dropped, in front of a stag, a dog, and a rat. 

“Oh,” Remus whispered. 

Thinking back on it later, Remus didn’t think he had ever felt more loved. Three boys he had met on the first day of school had found out he was a monster and then spent three years learning how to keep him company while he became a beast. Protection was the only love he had ever known, and this was the finest form of it. They were keeping him from being lonely, even on the nights he lost his mind. 

Being an Animagus was a secret they all had sworn to keep. If they went boasting about the magic they had done, everyone would start asking questions that none of them wanted to answer. It could have given James the attention he was always boldly claiming, hell, Remus thought, maybe it would have even made Lily give him the time of day. 

But none of them ever said anything. It was a secret between the four of them that made them more than family. Closer than blood. They had risked their lives for Remus and they continued to do so, because they loved him, and Remus didn’t believe he deserved it. 

He spent years trying to convince himself that Sirius wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t loved Remus, at least once in their lives. But maybe that had been the bigger secret, all along. 

Remus didn’t know. He kept things from Sirius too, and maybe this was only fair. While Sirius was silently learning to hate, Remus was silently falling in love. If the other boys had figured that out, Remus didn’t think that they would have ever asked him about it. They accepted the werewolf part of him, but they didn’t need to talk about this. 

Boys falling in love with their best friends weren’t things that people talked about, especially not in the constant hum of the dormitory they shared. If they were all quiet about it, no one had to admit to anything and nothing had to change. 

Secrets, Remus knew, keep you safe. 

Until you snapped, and confessed, and everything fell apart. Sirius had told Voldemort about James and Lily. He had given away that secret with no hesitation, with the knowledge that it would get them killed. 

But there were other secrets he had kept. Secrets he had every reason to tell, and Remus couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t. Sirius knew the layout of Hogwarts and its secret passages better than anyone else, but Voldemort had never figured out how to get past the boundaries. Sirius knew the location of a dozen other members of the Order of the Phoenix, but Voldemort had never found Mary or Hestia or Dedalus or the Weasley family. Sirius knew that Remus was a werewolf, but that was a tightlipped thing no one else knew. Sirius knew that Remus was in love with him, but he had never breathed a word to anyone. 

Remus shouldn’t care, shouldn’t overthink it. The years had passed by so slowly and he had worked so hard to forget it all that Sirius’ escape from Azkaban shouldn’t change any of his opinions on him. Nothing should change. The war was over. 

But he watched the rain pour down and wondered where Sirius was now. Where he was hiding. If he was eating enough. If the Dementors were close to getting him. 

The kind of loyalty and obsession and guilt that Remus was harbouring, trying to push down and out was going to kill him. The kind of hate and loneliness that was bleeding through his veins was aching like poison. The weight of all his secrets and his fears was tinder to a flame the war had struck long ago. Sirius was alive, and out there, and a traitor. 

And Remus was burning. 

That, he thought, was another secret. He couldn’t tell anyone else he was afraid, both of and for Sirius. His world had collapsed so many times, folding in on itself like a castle of cards. The exhaustion was getting to him. He didn’t know how much longer he could melt without fading away.


	8. strength (upright)

The midterm wasn’t difficult, if Remus was being honest. The final would explore more practical demonstrations of magic, the midterm was more about the usages of defensive magic. There were required to be questions about werewolves that Remus had to admit were all too fun to write. He could hear James and Sirius and Peter whisper in his ears about what jokes he could make and where. None of them were appropriate, of course, but that didn’t stop him from smiling about it. 

“Did you like question ten, Moony?” Sirius asked, his laugh an echo. They were walking over to the entrance hall, the first ones free of their exams. 

“Loved it,” Remus said with a sarcastic smile. “Give five signs that identify the werewolf. Excellent question.” 

James grinned, knocking into Remus’ shoulder. “D’you think you managed to get all the signs?”

“Think I did,” Remus told him, a mock seriousness in his words. “One: he’s sitting in my chair. Two: he’s wearing my clothes. Three: his name’s Remus Lupin…” 

Werewolf questions never failed to amuse him, despite many of them being somewhat offensive. Sirius always took them to heart, often going on loud rants about discrimination, but Remus didn’t mind so much. It was nice, afterwards, to be able to joke about it with friends. That took the sting away. 

Remus watched from his desk, running his hand along his wand absentmindedly, as the students took his test. From the breathy laughs he heard from time to time, at least some of the students were getting the few jokes on the test. It was exam season, they needed something to keep things light, and Remus, former Marauder, was all too happy to comply. 

There was a time before this, when Remus had sat at those desks-- specifically, the one Hermione was in just then-- and taken similar exams. There was a time when he had spent those same nights late in the library, studying for Defense and Charms and Potions. 

He watched the students now, tugging at their quills, biting their lips, itching at their arms, the same nervous ticks he used to see in his peers. Students these days weren’t all that different from who they had been when Remus was one. 

He couldn’t pretend, now, to ignore the crumpled notes passed from person to person. He remembered Sirius trying to bombard him with notes in Transfiguration, and McGonagall spotting every one of them at the same moment that Remus spotted them. 

“Psst, Re,” Sirius hissed, tapping his back. He glanced furtively around him before passing a note up to Remus.

Remus rolled his, taking the note. It took a few minutes before he read it, waiting until he was done copying down the explanations for the increasingly more complicated spells Professor McGonagall was assigning them. 

When he finally uncrumpled the note, a deep blush ran from the back of his neck to his hairline, and he could almost hear Sirius’ smile from behind him. Sirius was always tossing these words around, saying them to his friends whenever he could, as if simply to spite his parents having never said them to him. But this felt different, somehow, more private. Like it was a secret. 

Remus knew he was reading too much into it. Sirius didn’t mean it the way Remus was looking at it, skin flushing with the words. It didn’t mean anything, but Remus couldn’t stop thinking. He had never been able to do that. Sirius called it another character flaw, one that he somehow loved Remus for. 

“I love you,” Sirius’ handwriting read, and Remus swallowed down a heartbeat. 

Remus crumpled the note back up, about to put it away when someone snatched it out of his hands. Remus jumped to attention, looking up at McGonagall, who was unfolding the note and reading it. It was her policy to read notes out loud, and fuck, Remus was going to die of embarrasment--

But the laughter never came. McGonagall only nodded, handing the note back to him. He didn’t know what she thought of it, and he didn’t really want to know. He and Sirius both kept their heads down for the rest of the class, all their concentration focused on trying to transfigure a turtle into a boiling tea kettle. An “I love you” had never been worth the risk of someone finding out. 

“I’m done, Professor,” a student said, and Remus shook himself out of the memory. 

“Thanks, Susan,” he said, taking the exam booklet. 

The other students were beginning to finish up as well, checking their final answers and closing their books. The only person still furiously writing was Hermione-- no surprise there. Still, there was no rush. Remus had always been the student that needed extra time on tests, and he wasn’t going to take that opportunity away from one of his own students now. The rest of the class turned in their exams, one by one, walking up to his desk to hand in the booklet and then gathering their things to go to lunch. 

This was one of their earlier exams, Remus knew, and he wanted to make sure they all got to eat. Which was why, when only Hermione was left in the classroom, he went over, sitting at the chair in front of her, tapping her desk lightly.

She jumped at the touch. “I’m almost done, I’m sorry, Professor, I swear-- ”

“Hermione,” Remus interrupted. “It’s okay, take your time. I only wanted to make sure you get lunch. If you have a lot left to do, you can take a break for a meal and then come back later.” 

Hermione seemed to sag at the words. “I swear, Professor, I know the answers, it’s just-- I’m so tired.” 

“I know,” Remus said. He looked at her booklet, and seeing that she was on the last question, closed it for her. “You’ve taken on a lot of work this term, Hermione. It’s okay to be tired.” 

“I thought I could handle it,” Hermione said miserably, pushing herself back in her chair. Remus took the exam booklet, holding it against his chest. “I really did.” 

“You’re handling it remarkably well,” Remus assured her. “And I’m going to grade this exam knowing that you are taking three times the expected course load, and probably haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks.” 

Hermione sighed, running her hands through her hair as if that would hold back the curls. “How’d you know?” 

“I was a student once too,” Remus reminded her with a smile. “McGonagall cut all of my responses off at four paragraphs, said she refused to read anything more than that. I was offended, at first, but it kept me from going too far over time.” 

Hermione smiled a dry, tired smile, looking up at him. “I really did do my best.” 

“That’s all I can ask of you,” Remus told her. “Now, go get some lunch. I hear there’s pizza today.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, standing up. She gathered her quill and ink, stuffing it all back in her bag. She had at least ten books in there, and Remus could tell that one of the seams had been hastily sewn back together after splitting. 

“And Hermione,” Remus called after her, just before she turned out of the classroom. “Take care of yourself, okay?” 

She nodded, shooting him another tired smile before disappearing into the corridor. Remus watched the students crowd by his door, on their way to lunch or to class or to the library. He knew the names of every student in the building, but he couldn’t always take care of them, and that hurt him more than he liked to admit. 

“You’re such a mom, Remus,” Sirius said in his ear, groaning. 

“All I said,” a fifteen year old Remus replied, “was that you can’t use a summoning charm on the Giant Squid.” 

“Whatever,” Sirius replied, bored. “Mom.” 

Peter, from his own bed, laughed. “James is the mom here, let’s be honest. Which one of us is clucking like a mother hen when someone gets a cold?” 

“I own that role with pride,” James grumbled from his own bed. “Now all of you go to sleep, I’ve got Quidditch in the morning.” 

“Okay, Mom,” the other three boys all chorused simultaneously. 

Remus, sitting on a new bed in a different room, smiled to himself. The bedroom he had now was legions lonelier than the Gryffindor boys dormitories had been, but then again, Remus was a lonelier man than he had been back then, too. He crawled into bed, body aching, and closed his eyes, ready to dream of a dreamless sleep. 

Instead, he dreamt of being a wolf, running boundless through a forest. The touch of the damp grass against his paws kept him grounded, leaving pawprints in the mud as he ran, some trace of him still left behind. There was the ever present smell of morning dew, of the earth after the rain, and it gave him a full feeling in his throat. 

Beside him, a large dog ran with him, keeping up his stride without trying. The wolf and the dog look over at each other, every now and then, as if daring each other to go faster, always faster. They kept running, until Remus didn’t know what they were running from or what they were running to. 

The dog stopped eventually, in a wide, open clearing, where the moonlight could land clear on the grass. The wolf paused with him, crooking his head as if asking a question. The dog barked once, laying on the grass and rolling over. Then, standing up, he barked again. 

The wolf seemed to smile at him, silver teeth glinting in the moonlight. He howled, singing out to the moon, waiting for the call back. The echo never came, but then the dog joined in, two lonely spirits howling at midnight. The wolf stopped, taking a breath, then lay down in the grass. It was peaceful here, and the need to hunt ceased as the dog cuddled up next to him. 

The dog’s fur was soft, softer than the wolf’s coarse skin, and felt so gentle against the wolf’s body that he thought he might turn human again. He wrapped his head around, leaning into the dog, finally closing his eyes. 

When he woke, the dog was gone, and he was alone in the clearing. The moonlight had turned to a sickening red, casting the forest in a bloody shadow. The wolf howled again, calling out for the dog, lost in the woods, but no answer came. He was starting to wonder if there had ever been a dog at all. 

Then there was the growling, coming from the shadows on all sides. He was a wolf, he shouldn’t know fear in this way, but he was surrounded on all sides, and his skin ached where the dog had leaned into it. The whole night, the running, the howling, the sleeping, had all been a trick. None of it, the wolf thought with a snarl, was real, and this was what made him ready to hunt again. 

Remus sometimes woke from dreams unsure of where he was, who he was. He forgot, for just a moment, whether or not the war had ended, whether or not he was safe. For just that split second that he was lying awake with his eyes closed, he could pretend that everything was just as it was. 

He could never pretend for long, the painful eons of memory sinking into his shoulders as he opened his eyes. Sitting in Dumbledore’s office, the weight of all those years sent all his joints into a dull, throbbing ache, and he wished he could live in the split second between dream and reality, where everything was dark and quiet. 

“You’re not letting him in, I suppose,” Dumbledore said dryly, sitting at his desk with his hands resting on his knee. 

Remus sighed. “If I knew any more about his location than you did, I would tell you.” 

“You have to understand why I must ask.” 

“I do,” Remus said. 

He really did understand, however much he hated it. He was Sirius’ only living friend left in the world, the only person who had loved him who was still alive and walking. Beyond that, he was a werewolf. It was in his nature to betray, he thought bitterly. No one, he knew, would be surprised if he were actually to help Sirius. 

But this time, he wasn’t in on Sirius’ plans. Sirius had gone off without him, left him behind, and Remus was stuck at Hogwarts to clean up the aftermath. He had broken into Gryffindor Tower-- though how much “breaking” was involved, Remus wasn’t sure, considering he had the password from a neatly curated list-- and the castle was being searched again and again and no one was finding anything. Sirius knew how to hide when he wanted to. 

“Look, sir,” Remus said carefully. “I really don’t know what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, or what he’s going to do next. I want to help, but I can’t.” 

Dumbledore sighed. “You’re still keeping secrets, aren’t you, Remus?” 

Remus’ blood ran cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Okay,” was all Dumbledore said. “If you find out anything more about Black, you must tell me.” 

“I will,” Remus said. “Of course.” 

“Of course,” Dumbledore repeated, as though it were not an assurance at all. “You may go.” 

Remus nodded, rising from the chair. He exited Dumbledore’s office with as much composure as he could, before finding an empty corridor and sagging against the wall, barely able to keep his breathing straight. 

It seemed like every time that Sirius was mentioned, Remus found himself on the verge of a panic attack. He knew the signs, the way his body began to shake and his mind to rush, every touch suddenly an arrow at his skin. 

“Breathe, Remus,” a soft voice said, someone touching his arm briefly, just to let him know they were there. Remus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breath, but it wasn’t coming out right. “Breathe, Remus. Count to four. One. Two. Three. Four.” 

Remus took a long breath. One. Two. Three. Four. His hands were shaking and he kept his eyes closed. Another person knelt by him, and the two people seemed to exchange knowing glances. 

“We’re here, Remus,” the second voice said. “We’re with you, all the way.” 

“Inhale,” the first voice said, and Remus forced himself to listen. “One. Two. Three. Four.” 

He didn’t know how much time passed like that, him crouched in the corridor, leaning against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. No other footsteps passed by, just the two voices next to him. They knew better than to touch, better than to push for details. They just sat there together, inhaling, and exhaling, and steadying. 

“What do you need us to do?” the first said after a little while, and Remus shuddered at the sound of it, finally recognizing the voices. 

“Leave me alone,” Remus muttered. Then, louder, a yell, “Go away! Leave me alone!” 

He opened his eyes to the empty hallway. James Potter and Sirius Black were nowhere to be found, though their voices had been so clear. His breathing had evened out, and he didn’t know if that was because of the comfort or the anger. 

Remus was losing his mind, he was sure of it. With every passing day, his hands shook harder and the voices of his dead friends-- because who Sirius had been was dead the same as James and Peter-- grew louder. He taught his classes, smiling and laughing with his students, but he went to bed with the same ghosts he woke up with, the ones that never seemed to leave the crevices of his head. 

“Are you alright, Professor?” Harry asked one night, as Remus was setting up for their individual lesson. He was inspecting Remus closely, and the fresh scar under Remus’ eye stung. 

Remus turned to him, eyes turning soft at Harry’s hesitant gaze. “I’ve been worse, believe me.” 

“Okay,” Harry said, not sure if he should accept that answer. 

“Now,” Remus said, changing the topic altogether. “Same deal as last time. You know the spell. Do you have a happy memory to focus on?” 

Harry nodded, swallowing down all fear. It was easy to imagine, Remus supposed, without the Dementor there, but it was different once the trunk had been opened. They had been working for weeks, with very little success. Harry could manage a weak shield, but it wasn’t enough to completely keep off the Dementors. 

“Wand at the ready,” Remus said, and Harry prepared himself. 

Remus tapped the trunk lightly, and the case opened. The Dementor was quicker this time, moving out of the confines of the trunk in a swift motion, coming up heads above Harry, ducking down with a hissing breath. Harry stumbled, hitting the back of a desk hard, but kept his wand steady. 

“Come on, Harry,” Remus muttered to himself, staring up at the Dementor. His own wand was sweaty in his fist. The candles began to flicker, and Remus took a shuddering breath. 

“Expecto-- ” Harry started, fumbling over the words. Then, “Expecto Patronum!” 

A white, silver light burst from his wand, a shield growing from the tip. The Dementor struggled against it, but the shield held strong, and Remus grinned, a laugh forming on his lips. Harry was grinning, high on his success, and that was when the corporeal form burst out. 

It came in a gentle, sweeping motion, galloping out of the tip of Harry’s wand and coming in a full circle around the Dementor. Harry moved his wand slightly, forcing the Dementor back in the trunk, but Remus didn’t close it. He was too caught up in staring at the beautiful silver stag that was prancing around the room. 

“James,” he whispered, so lightly that he couldn’t hear the word himself. 

He turned around, watching as the stag moved around him, coming to his front to nuzzle at his arm. Remus could feel tears stinging his eyes, but he took a deep breath, refusing to let them fall. The stag moved away from Remus, walking towards Harry with a light bounce to his step. Harry was laughing as the stag moved around him, preening until Harry let go of the spell and it eventually faded away. 

“Professor,” Harry said, the happiness bleeding through his words. “I did it! Did you see that?” 

Remus, all tears subtly brushed away, looked over at him, an earnest smile growing. “That was amazing, Harry. I’m-- I couldn’t be more proud of you.” 

“A stag,” Harry said, mind already wandering. “You said the Patronus is a kind of representation of your soul, right? I wonder what a stag means…” 

Remus knew. Remus knew exactly what the stag meant, because the stag was James’ Patronus form and his Animagus form, and a doe was Lily’s Patronus. The stag meant a leader, a protector, all of the things Remus knew the Potter family to be. In another life, Harry would have known that too.

“There’s a book in the Restricted Section,” Remus finally said, “about Patronus charms. I’ll write you a permission slip, if you take a look at it, it should have some good analyses about different corporeal forms.” 

Harry grinned at him. “Thanks, sir, I’d love that.” 

“I’ll write that out for you now,” Remus said, digging through his bag to find a spare bit of parchment. 

He found some easily, and with shaking hands, wrote out the form. He knew what Harry would find there-- it would be the same information he and the other Marauders had found when they were sixth years, learning this charm.

Remus handed the paper off to Harry with a smile. “I’m proud of you, Harry. You’ve done a truly amazing thing. I hope you’re very happy with yourself.” 

Harry smiled at him. “Thank you.” 

“No, go off, get some sleep,” Remus said, waving a hand. “I happen to know from Professor Flitwick that you’ve got an exam tomorrow.” 

“Right, thanks Professor,” Harry said, still grinning. He clutched the paper tight in his fist as he left the room, still high on his success. 

Despite how shaken he was, Remus couldn’t help but be proud of his student. “Look at that,” he muttered to himself. “Your son’s already outdone you, James.” 

He stared out into the empty classroom, the rattling trunk next to him. With a flick of his wand, Remus closed the classroom door and let the candles burn down. He was sitting completely in darkness, and Remus closed his eyes, hung onto a happy memory, the happiest he could find at the moment. 

He waved his wand in a calculated, practiced motion, and watched as the silver animal bounded forth. It looked around, studying the surroundings for a threat, and Remus let out a sobbing laughter. The Patronus turned to him, as if realizing that the real grief was there, and Remus raised a hand. The black dog came forward and licked his cheek up to his forehead before drawing back, grinning. There was no touch there, no touch except the phantom pain of an old kiss.

Remus woke up the next morning on the floor of his bedroom, naked and shivering. The sun had risen almost completely, casting daylight where the moon had scarred him only hours before. Remus winced slightly as he moved, a new cut having opened up on his back, where the split between skin and wolf tore most violently. He found his clothes buried in an untidy closet, pulling them on as quickly as he could, trying to keep the cold away from his bare skin. 

He made it to the Great Hall in time for breakfast, where he sat next to McGonagall and, yawning, drank only a cup of coffee. 

“You don’t usually take coffee,” McGonagall noted, frowning. “Rough night?” 

Remus shrugged. “I’ve definitely had worse. Perhaps I’ll have some eggs as well.” 

“Hm,” McGonagall said, as if she disapproved of his lack of self care. Always the teacher, Remus thought with a light smile. “Remus, the next Hogsmeade trip is today, I was hoping you might accompany Filius, Pomona, and I to the Three Broomsticks.” 

“Oh, thank you,” Remus said, “but I really must catch up on sleep this weekend. It’s… that time of month.” 

McGonagall nodded, a tinge of both respect and worry in her smile. “Of course. Please take care of yourself, Remus. There are students out there who sorely need you.” 

Remus chuckled. “I’m sure they’re-- ”

“No,” McGonagall interrupted, “Remus, you’ve given these students things that no other teacher has before. I swear, I’ve never seen Longbottom do so well on a test without Granger to tutor him, and we both know how busy she is.” 

“I gave him a few extra lessons,” Remus admitted. “But not enough to be a big deal.” 

McGonagall shook her head, smiling fully at him. She nodded towards Hermione, who looked like she had slept for the first time in weeks and was running on the high of it. “You’ve given them acceptance, Remus. That’s more than a lot of these kids have ever had, in the world we made for them.” 

Remus ducked his head, trying to bury a blush in his coffee. He really did dislike the stuff. “I suppose.” 

“You suppose,” McGonagall said, chuckling. “Take some credit for your work, Remus.” 

Remus smiled, but couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. He was proud of his students, he was, but he couldn’t help but also feel that sense of guilt he had always harboured, for a thousand different reasons at a thousand different times. Whether it was the illness that turned him into a monster, whether it was some sick love for Sirius Black, whether it was the weight of all his lies, that guilt built up in his chest, higher and higher, until he thought one day he might explode with it. 

The rest of the day was easier, though. For the third years-- easily his favorite year-- it was a lesson on Vampires that was proving easier to teach than previously thought. Apparently all of the Muggle misinformation hadn’t quite made its way to the entire class yet. A few of the Muggleborns laughed at some of his Dracula jokes, though, which made him feel appreciated. Wizards had never truly appreciated a good Muggle fantasy book. 

“Professor,” Hermione asked, stepping behind after class. “I was wondering about my exam…” 

Remus smiled at her. “I read it last night. It was really brilliant. Your comments about werewolves were especially well written.” 

Hermione beamed. “Thank you, I-- I kind of panicked on that question, because Snape didn’t teach us much and I mostly just tried to write from the book, but-- ”

“Your knowledge seemed to surpass a lot of the books I’ve read,” Remus interrupted, raising a hand. “Whatever panic you felt didn’t come through in your writing. Your true intelligence isn’t from the books you know, Hermione, but from what you do with what you’ve read.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, smiling again. “I was worried about the question on Hinkypunks, though, did you-- ”

“I liked it,” Remus assured her. “You only missed a small detail, that their smoke can be blue as well as grey and white, but I won’t take points off for that. You can identify them and know how to defeat them, and that’s the most important part.” 

Hermione looked crestfallen, now studying the books in her hands rather than what Remus was saying. “I promise I was paying attention to that lecture-- ”

“I know you were,” Remus said. “You asked very insightful questions, I might add.” 

“Some professors just tell me I’m annoying,” Hermione said with a light laugh that was anything but light. 

Remus frowned. He knew immediately who she meant, but it wasn’t his place to say anything against Severus, not in front of a student. But in his head, there was a fire burning. He had never approved of bullying Severus as a child, but his anger at him was growing with every new student complaint.

“Your questions are important ones,” Remus said, keeping his voice steady. “Keep asking questions, please.” 

Hermione smiled at him. “I better get going, but thank you, Professor.” 

“Of course,” Remus said, nodding at her. 

Her exam really had been well-written, nothing he said was a lie, but he couldn’t help but note the sandpaper taste on his tongue. He cared about his students more than anything, but Severus was bullying and hurting and punishing those same kids, out of what? Misplaced childhood hate? 

Remus wanted to yell, wanted to provoke him into something. Tell him, no it’s not those kids you hate, it’s me, it’s always been me and Sirius and James and Peter. Take it out on me, he wanted to say. Leave the kids alone. 

But however much he yelled those thoughts into the echochamber of his mind, Severus wouldn’t listen. Severus had never been one to listen. 

“You could always hex him,” a small voice said in the back of his mind. 

“Peter,” another voice admonished, “getting evil, I see.” 

Remus could feel Peter’s grin, could sense it the same way he could sense his own. 

“Not evil,” Peter said, “just give to him what he gives to us. I don’t see the issue.” 

“I don’t either,” a third voice said. Sirius, always grand and loud and sure of himself. “You heard what he called Muggleborns the other day. I say we hex him. Or I hex him, whichever way.” 

“We have to be better than he is,” Remus said, but he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “When Severus hurts them, I’ll comfort them, and it’ll all go round and round and round.” 

“And when you’re gone?” Sirius asked, his voice all too cruel for the sixteen year old image Remus was conjuring in his mind. The ghost of a memory pressed a kiss to Remus’ temple, and then moved away, the presence immediately a loss. 

“I’ll just stay,” Remus said stubbornly. “I’ll just stay.” 

He hesitated, the voices in his mind gone, just for the moment. But the sudden silence was caving in on him, the weight of it almost too much to bear. He could feel himself collapsing, the same way he always had without his friends, the same way he had been doing for twelve years. 

“I’ll stay,” Remus murmured. It was a promise that soldiers made during wartime, a promise that most of them didn’t keep. The Prewetts had died the other day, killed in their home. Sirius had been the one to find them. 

“Stay with me,” Sirius had whispered when he came home, and Remus had never been able to deny him. 

“I’ll stay,” he promised again, but lighter this time. “Just for the night.” 

Sirius kissed his temple, curling into his chest and closing his eyes. “You’ve got a mission in the morning, haven’t you?” 

“Yes,” Remus said, swallowing down the guilt and fear in his throat. He would be going undercover, joining the werewolves the next morning. For now though, Sirius was heavy against his chest and their breaths were aligned, slow and quiet. “But I’ll be here tonight. Is that enough?” 

“Yes,” Sirius said. “I think so.”


	9. the emperor (upright)

Remus didn’t know what to expect when Severus pulled him into his office, a snarl on his lips and Harry Potter standing at the corner, hunched over, clearly wishing he weren’t there.

“You called, Severus?” Remus asked, smoothing out his robes and stepping inside. “Hello, Harry. What can I do for you?” 

“Potter was caught sneaking into Hogsmeade,” Severus said, the loathing clear in his voice. “I asked him to turn out his pockets, and he was carrying this.” 

At the last word, he brandished a piece of parchment paper that Remus recognized all too well. The words of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs were inked onto the front page, and oh-- Remus had forgotten about that last charm they added. It had been Peter’s idea to insult whoever tried to use the map without the proper words, and Sirius’ magic to make it happen. 

Remus tried to keep his face blank, tried to keep any recognition away from his features. He didn’t know how well he was succeeding, and the way Severus was glaring at him made him think he was not doing a very good job.

“Well?” Severus demanded. “Well?” 

Remus glanced between the map and Harry and back to the map again. He didn’t quite know what to make of the situation, but he didn’t give himself the chance to think very hard before deciding to help Harry. 

“This parchment is clearly made up of Dark Magic,” Severus growled. “This is your area of expertise, isn’t it, Lupin? To find and defeat Dark Magic? Now where do you suppose Harry might have gotten this?” 

“I don’t know about Dark Magic,” Remus said, trying to keep calm. “It looks like a piece of parchment meant to insult anyone who reads it. From a joke shop, I’m sure.” 

“Oh?” Severus asked, jaw set. Remus could see the crinkles in the parchment where his fist was gripping too tightly and tried not to wince. The map was a delicate thing. “You really think a joke shop would sell something like this?” 

“Joke shops have certainly evolved since our school days, Severus.” Remus glanced over at Harry, who was standing very, very still, as if watching a duel rather than an argument. “Let me see it.” 

Severus snapped his hand away from Remus’ reach. “A joke shop,” he repeated bitterly. “You don’t think it more likely he got it directly from the manufacturers?” 

Remus took a deep breath. Severus absolutely knew what the Marauders had called each other back then. The whole school had probably known their nicknames as well as Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs knew them. Severus was baiting him into admitting it, but to do so would be to admit to a weakness Remus refused to expose. 

“I don’t think that likely,” Remus said. “Harry, do you know any of these people? Mr. Wormtail or any others?” 

Harry shook his head in a quick, sharp motion. “No, I don’t.” 

“There we go,” Remus said with a grim smile. “I’ll confiscate and inspect it though, Severus, as it is, as you so aptly put it, my area of expertise.” 

Severus glared at him, but let the paper be taken from his hands. Remus nodded to him, then motioned for Harry to leave the room with him. 

“Come to my office, Harry,” Remus said quietly, holding the map tight in his hands. 

It had been years since he had seen it, after Filch had confiscated it in the final days of their seventh year. It felt like he was holding a piece of history, a piece of who they had all been at fifteen years old, with ambition towering higher than Hogwarts itself did. 

Harry followed him towards his office, where the two finally sat down. Remus closed the door behind them, and set the map down on his desk. The parchment had cleared itself, now empty once again. Remus sat down, rubbing his face before looking up at Harry and taking a breath. 

“Professor, I-- ”

Remus shook his head, and Harry cut himself off. It took another moment, before Remus tapped the map with a finger, the parchment as good as new after all of these years. 

“I don’t want to hear excuses,” he finally said. “And I don’t want to know how you got this map when I know for a fact that it was confiscated many, many years ago.” 

“How-- ”

“Yes, I know it’s a map,” Remus said, waving a hand. “That’s not the point. Did it occur at all, Harry, that a map of Hogwarts and its inhabitants is a direct path to you? That, in the hands of Sirius Black, a childish map becomes the reason a murderer finds you?” 

“No,” Harry said, his face reddening. He looked down, and Remus felt a sting of pity. 

“I know you want to go out with your friends, and it’s Hogsmeade, I know.” Remus took a breath. “But everybody here in the castle-- including Professor Snape-- is working to keep you safe, and going out recklessly with a map like this is a pretty poor way to even imitate cooperating with us.” 

Harry swallowed, knee bouncing. “I just-- I didn’t think he would know how to work it.” 

Remus stared at him. “He’s one of the most talented Dark wizards of this age, Harry, of course he knows how to work it. Just because Professor Snape doesn’t know, doesn’t mean no one else ever will.” 

“Right,” Harry said, awkward enough that Remus almost believed him. 

“I can’t let you have this back, I’m sorry,” Remus said, after a moment of silence. He took the map in hand, folding it back into the creases. It warmed under his hand, a tingling sensation in his fingers, as if the map still recognized him. 

Harry looked up. “Why did Snape think I got it from-- the manufacturers?” 

“Because-- ” Remus hesitated. Because, he thought, should everything not have gone so horrible wrong, this map would have been yours by heritage. Because, he thought, Severus knows your history in a way that even you do not know. 

“Because,” he started again, finally settled in his answer. “The mapmakers would have wanted to lure you out of school. They would have thought it entertaining.” 

“How does Snape know that?” 

Remus sighed. Only a little while ago did he tell Hermione Granger never to stop asking questions. “Professor Snape is smarter than you give him credit for. Trust me when I say they would have wanted to lead you astray, and he is not so foolish as to believe otherwise.”

“You talk as if you know them,” Harry said, an impressed curiosity in his voice. 

“We’ve met,” Remus admitted. “Look, Harry, I can’t make you afraid of Sirius Black, and I can’t keep you safe if you don’t want to be. But please, risking your life for a bag of magic tricks at Zonko’s is a pretty poor way to respect those helping you.” 

Harry swallowed and nodded. The two of them sat there for a long moment, and Remus didn’t know what Harry was thinking, but all Remus could think about was that Boggart. Sirius, evil and decaying and telling him all that love had been a lie. Sirius, turning into the Dark wizard his family had made him. Sirius, betraying his real family. Sirius, who was now going to kill Harry, if Harry kept being this damn reckless. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said in a small voice. “I didn’t think.” 

Remus nodded. “Well, now you’re thinking. But I still can’t give this back to you.” 

“I know,” Harry said. He didn’t meet Remus’ gaze, and Remus couldn’t quite get a hold on what was going through his mind. 

“Go,” Remus said, waving the hand that had the map in it. “Get some dinner, play with whatever you got from Zonko’s.” 

Harry nodded, scrambling up. He made it to the door before he paused, turning back to Remus, as if he were about to say something and then thought better of it. He was out the door and down the hallway before Remus could stop him again. 

Remus took a faltering breath, staring at the map in his hands. 

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he whispered, the words as familiar on his tongue as they had always been.

The map came to life, unfolding and unveiling, thousands of names wandering across the halls. Watching the ink rise up, the shifting staircases turn, the footprints mimicked on the parchment-- it felt like coming home. This was something that Remus knew every detail of, every inner mechanism. This was something tangible that he could hold onto, long after James and Lily and Peter had all turned to dust and Sirius as good as. 

“Mischief managed,” Remus murmured, tapping the parchment. Just as easily as it had come to life, the ink faded and the mapped walls of Hogwarts sunk back into the page. It worked as well as it ever had, and Remus couldn’t help but feel a prideful swell in his throat. 

“I… swear,” Remus started, hesitating. “I am up to good.” 

He exhaled a smile as the map changed faces. 

_Mr. Prongs presents his compliments to Professor R.J. Lupin, as well as a note of pride for his current high standing. He also wonders, does becoming a professor make you forget how to make mischief?_

Remus could have cried just then, holding the map up to see the cursive scrawl better in the light. James had insisted on the font, saying that despite being practically unreadable, it added a flair that their other options did not. 

_Mr. Wormtail would like to add that he would very much like to sit in on one of Professor Lupin’s classes as he is sure they are wholly entertaining. He also reminds his friend that while he says he is up to good, it really would be better if he were not. _

Remus broke into a smile, wet with tears, covering his mouth with one hand. His friends, however old this magic was, were reminding him of the secret words. However long ago they had bound this parchment together, thousands of spells and charms and bits of themselves, his friends were still there. 

_Mr. Padfoot bids Remus a good day, and wishes that he would swear solemnly, as it adds a little more drama. He also would like to tell Remus that his hair looks especially nice today, and wishes he would write every now and then. _

Reading the messages from his old friends made an old scar on his lungs hurt again, as if the ability to breathe regularly had been torn from him. 

He spent the better part of the night staring blankly at the wall, trying to remember the sound of James’ laughter. For some reason, the memory of it was escaping him, like a word on the tip of his tongue that never came out clear. 

He stared, eyes burning into the stone wall, trying in vain to conjure up the noise. It had been loud, and boisterous, and happy, and it had filled Remus with some kind of joy, but for all the wretched thinking he did, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. 

Remus had memories of James laughing of course, and he had photos, but the sound escaped him. It had been twelve years since he had heard the sound, so Remus thought he should probably forgive himself for it, but it felt like James had died all over again. Remus was forgetting him, and once Remus forgot, who was left to remember his best moments? 

Not the ones that any Gryffindor of their year could tell you about-- not the graduation fireworks, not the trick shots with the Quaffle, not the pranks he pulled, not any of those things. Those weren’t his best moments, Remus knew, they were just his loudest. 

His best moments came in silent places, where he didn’t take loud credit and boast about it. His best moments were on the full moon, transforming into a beautiful stag and telling no one about this feat of magic, all for the sake of his friend. His best moments were in the dark, when Sirius was shaking with nightmares, and James got up tirelessly to sit and talk with him, never being demeaning or laughing at him. His best moments were when Peter was homesick, and James snuck into the kitchen to make a real, genuine, homemade meal-- however bad it ended up tasting.

His best moments were with Lily, talking to her about the war while on patrol as Head Boy, telling Remus how smart she was when they got back to the dormitory late at night. His best moments were the tender cradling of infant Harry, pressing a kiss to his forehead and making promises he couldn’t keep. 

His best moments were the ones no one would ever value once Remus lost them, and Remus was forgetting. Blame old age, blame the endless exhaustion of the nights, blame God-- Remus couldn’t remember what James Potter’s laugh sounded like, and it was eating him up inside. 

He pulled himself out of bed in the early hours of the morning, figuring that if sleep didn’t come, he might as well get a head start on the day. He had graded the last batch of third year exams by breakfast, and locked them away in a cabinet until he would return them. On the desk, the Marauder’s Map sat perfectly blank and innocent. 

“I can’t carry you around with me everywhere,” he said to the empty room. “Severus would get more suspicious than he already is.” 

The Map seemed to sigh at him, and Remus rolled his eyes. He pulled open a drawer and gingerly set the map inside before closing and locking it again. Out of sight, out of mind. He didn’t need another repeat of last night’s sleeplessness. 

He made his way to the Great Hall, passing a group of students running at full speed towards the Quidditch field. It was the final match of the House Cup, if Remus remembered correctly. He wasn’t supposed to be biased, as a teacher, but all of the professors had gone to school once and they all had their bets. For the past few weeks, McGonagall and Severus had been giving each other sly, cruel glances, as if on edge and waiting for the other to shoot first. 

Remus ate quickly before heading up to the field himself, following the rest of the staff to the box where they all sat together. It was still strange to sit on that side of the field, rather than with the Gryffindors where he had used to watch the games with Peter and Sirius by his side. Peter had always been much more into the games than either he or Sirius were, but they could all get riled up on James’ behalf. 

“Oh, he’s living for this, isn’t he?” Sirius asked, grinning. He pointed up to the corner of the field, by the rings, where James was showing off the newest trick on his broomstick, where he stood vertically and swung around it like a pole. “Final match, and he’s soaking it all in.” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “The more nervous he is, the more of a prat he gets.” 

Peter laughed at that, and Remus shot him a smile. Peter was decked out in red and gold, with face paint glimmering across his cheeks. Remus swung an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close. 

“Come on,” Sirius said, reaching a hand back without looking. He wiggled his fingers, and Remus took his hand, the same way he always had and would. 

Sirius led the three of them to a spot at the front of the stands, where they could see the whole field. The Gryffindor team was warming up, running in circles around the rings, while the Ravenclaw team was having a meeting down below. Peter settled next to them, leaning against the railing, already watching the players with an eagle eye. 

“Do you think being a rat gives him better vision?” Sirius muttered to Remus, watching Peter watch the player. “He’s definitely seeing something in this game that I’m not.” 

Remus snorted. “Everyone thinks you’re the athletic type,” he said, “but clearly they should all be going after Peter.” 

Sirius looked at him, mock offended. “And miss out on all of this? That would simply be tragic.” 

“Sure,” Remus hummed, rolling his eyes. Sirius moved a hand around his waist, holding him tightly, and this, yes, yes, he agreed, losing this would be tragic. 

Sirius gave a whoop of joy when the whistle sounded, the Quaffle in the air, James shooting through the sky to grab at the Quaffle before anyone else could. He snatched it out of the air, cutting a sharp corner around a Beater and bringing himself straight to the goal posts. With an expert flick of his wrist, he shot the Quaffle into the third ring before the Ravenclaw Keeper understood what was happening. 

From the other sides of the stand, there were jeers and boos, both for and against James. The Hufflepuff students seemed to be mostly torn between the two teams, while the Slytherins were actively rooting for a Gryffindor loss. 

“Less than two minutes in!” Melissa Bryant, the commentator, was yelling, “and Potter has scored ten points for Gryffindor! He’s also about to score in a whole different way tonight if he wins-- ”

The microphone screeched as McGonagall tore it away from her. Melissa, Sirius noted with a grin, was doing an awful lot of pleading with McGonagall to get the microphone back, but she got it back after the both of them missed a spectacular goal on James’ part.

The match went on. Sirius was getting into the energy of the game, bouncing on his toes as they all watched James fly back and forth with a focus and determination that no one could find in him off of the pitch. He caught the Quaffle, slammed into a Beater, dodged a Bludger, scored, fell and then rose again, caught the Quaffle, tossed it to a teammate, made a sharp turn around the Keeper, scored, and the match continued. Though only a fourth year, James was one of the strongest Chasers the team had seen in years, and he knew it. 

Remus watched, a growing anticipation in his chest as the game got longer and longer. The enthusiasm for the match didn’t seem to dwindle, even as the light seemed to begin to fade. No one had caught the Snitch yet, and that meant anything could happen. No one wanted to leave and miss the big moment. 

“She’s seen it!” Peter yelled, frantically waving at the Gryffindor Seeker. “Rachael, she’s seen it!” 

Rachael King, a slight, mousy haired girl that Peter had harbored a not-so-secret crush on all of last year, was indeed flying at top speed towards the stands where the teachers sat. Her hair was flying behind her, every inch of her stretched towards the Snitch. The Ravenclaw Seeker, too, was darting towards the stands, a grit and determination in his teeth rivaled only by the intense glare Rachael was bearing. 

They dodged towards the stands, and all the staff members fell backwards as Rachael grabbed the Snitch from just over the Herbology professor’s head, his hat flying clean off. Rachael raised the Snitch triumphantly, yelling something unintelligible beneath the roaring of the stands. 

Remus, now sitting in the teacher’s stand, thought about Rachael and Peter and their shared first kiss, and James hugging her tighter than possible after the game, and Sirius pressing a kiss to Remus’ palm and telling him to go rub the ego off of James’ grin, and the warmth that spread from his touch. 

The match went on, and Remus kept his attention on Harry. He sat next to McGonagall, who was very pointedly not looking at any of the Slytherin teachers. She had long harboured a hate for the Slytherin Quidditch team, Remus knew, but it had never gotten this tense before. 

Harry was flying better than Remus had ever seen him do before, and he marvelled at the thought that Harry was doing almost as well as James had in third year. Some things, he thought, really did run in blood. Maybe Quidditch was one of them. 

The game was mostly a blur, made colorful only by Lee Jordan’s commentary. Gryffindor won the match, and McGonagall screamed as loud as the rest of them. She hugged Remus tight, kissing both his cheeks and saying she thought she’d never see the day. 

The team was awarded the House Cup, a large, grand trophy with the Gryffindor emblem burned into it as the match closed. Harry was hoisted onto someone’s shoulders, and Remus could hear his laughter from where he stood apart from the group. His laughter was clear, and loud, and confident, and Remus thought maybe he heard a ghost. 

It was getting late, he reminded himself, and the full moon would be in a few days time. Let them have their happy moments. God knows they’ve all earned them. Remus wondered if he had earned his own, not when all the things he remembered were so tainted. 

“Do you remember?” Sirius had asked one day, the two of them packing up trunks for the summer. It was always a bittersweet time, both of them proud of the year’s accomplishments and dreading the summer ahead. “When we first met?” 

“At the Welcome Feast,” Remus said, “I remember. You told me your name and I forgot to tell you mine because I had never had a friend before, and we went several days because you were so ashamed you didn’t actually know my name, despite living with me.” 

Sirius reddened at the memory, tossing a loose sock at Remus, who only grinned and threw it back. “Yeah, I remember that too, but that’s not what I meant.” 

“What’d you mean, then?” 

Sirius sat on the bed, giving up all pretense of packing. He watched Remus carefully, not quite sure what to say. “I told you my name, and you asked about my family, you said you recognized the name Black.” 

“Yeah,” Remus said slowly, folding a sweater. “And you told me that you were from the-- what? The Ancient and Noble House of Black, and you’re damn right you recognized the name.” 

“God, that was such bullshit,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. “The Noble House of Black, what does that even mean?” 

“I didn’t particularly care for that introduction,” Remus admitted. He packed the sweater neatly into his trunk. “I didn’t warm up to you until I realized you weren’t like the rest of them, not really. Why’re you thinking about that now?” 

Sirius shrugged, picking at the sleeve of his robes. “I was just thinking about family.” 

“Ah,” Remus said, voice soft. Family was one of the few things Sirius couldn’t talk about easily, but family was also one of the things Remus wanted to know the most about. “What about family?” 

“About creating your own,” Sirius said, sitting on his bed and looking away. “And how friends can be family. More than, say, a group of abusive racists who raised you in their image.” 

Remus nodded, putting down another sweater. He moved over to Sirius’ bed, sitting next to him. Remus offered an open hand out to Sirius, who took it gingerly. “And?” 

“You,” Sirius blurted out. “And James and Peter. You guys. My chosen family.” 

“You’re great with the words today,” Remus teased gently, and Sirius relaxed visibly, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m trying to tell you my innermost thoughts here, Moony. Respect them.” 

Remus smiled, leaning his forehead against Sirius’ forehead. “You too, Sirius. You and James and Peter.” 

“Really?” Sirius asked, pulling back. “Do you think… James and Peter… ”

Remus could see the hesitation in his eyes, could read how worried this little confession had made him, though it was a truth they had all known for so long. It had gone unspoken, this family between the four of them, and Remus had thought they never would need to name it, but sometimes he forgot that Sirius Black was a deeply complex, deeply insecure man. 

The reminder somehow made the touch of their hands all that much more vulnerable, and Remus let himself sink lower into the feeling. He hadn’t needed it said, and maybe neither did James nor Peter, but Sirius did, and Remus was happy to say it. 

“Yes,” Remus said with a small smile. “I think so.” 

Back in the Defense classroom, Remus nodded to himself, tapping on the desk as Sirius whispered things into his ears. Ghosts and promises and chosen families and Remus didn’t know what was real anymore. The voices in his head that so sounded like his friends, the ghosts he thought he saw out of the corners of his eyes, the love Sirius had pressed against Remus’ skin in the dark of night-- he didn’t know what counted as real and what was just his imagination. 

He watched Harry try out a defensive spell against a particularly vicious kappa, and wondered how he ever ended up here. He should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus, he should confess everything, however much it would break Dumbledore’s trust in him. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He had paced outside of his office, walked halfway to Dumbledore more than once, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. The fear of Dumbledore’s disappointment was paralyzing, and Remus sometimes wondered if his Boggart shouldn’t be the moon or Sirius but his own damn insecurities. 

It was selfish, he knew, not to say anything. It was cowardly, he knew. But Sirius wouldn’t-- 

And that was the question, wasn’t it? Would he? He had done so before, done things that Remus didn’t want to name, didn’t want to accept. There was the cowardice again, the denial that Sirius could do wrong, the denial that Sirius had already done wrong, the denial that he would do it again. 

They had been a family. There were things that went deeper than blood, deeper than promises, and Remus wanted to believe that what the Marauders had was one of those things. The family they had made, forging something kind and soft out of all their sixteen year old anger, that was supposed to be the one thing Remus never lost. Even now-- though people said he had lost it already-- he still couldn’t give it up. 

“Wand a little higher,” Remus said, tapping Dean on the shoulder. “You’re moving a little slow, try a more mechanical kind of movement.” 

He made his way around the room, thinking about all of the students, and all of the danger they were in. The danger that was, at the end of the day, his fault in more ways than one. It would change everything, he knew, if the Ministry knew to search for an Animagus. But it would also be a betrayal of both Dumbledore and Sirius, the only two living people who had any acceptance left in their hearts for Remus. He knew he had to do it, he had to give away the secret but his tongue felt like lead underwater. 

There was always this small nagging at the back of his mind, saying that Sirius could never do anything wrong, not the Sirius that had loved with kisses and smiled like it was all he knew how to do. Not the Sirius that Remus had fallen in love with. Not the Sirius who had loved James as a brother, who had been the second son the Potters had always wanted. Not the Sirius who had been named godfather, who had held Harry in his arms with all the gentleness in the world, as if afraid to break him with too hard of a hug. 

“Concentrate on the words, Parvati,” Remus reminded her, stepping next to her group. She took a deep breath and tried the spell again, grinning to see that it worked perfectly. Remus moved to the next group. 

He should tell Dumbledore. Students were in danger. Harry was in danger. Remus couldn’t let old school promises keep him from protecting them, but then again the shame flooded through him in the same way a blood moon did. 

Admitting how often and easily Remus had broken Dumbledore’s trust in his school years? Admitting all of the illegal magic his friends had done for his sake, on his shoulders? Admitting all of the close calls they’ve had and the danger Remus had put his friends in, and how Remus desperately, tragically wouldn’t give those years up for anything? 

He tripped over a bump in the floor, barely catching himself before he fell. He shook off a worried glance from a student, and continued making his way around the groups.

“Make the flick sharper, Lavender.” 

Remus moved to the next student. He should tell Dumbledore. The pain was eating him alive. 

“Fay, the emphasis is on the last syllable.” 

He couldn’t tell Dumbledore, the thought alone made his hands shake and he could feel the edge of a panic attack whisper at the low of his skull. 

“Seamus, how did you manage to explo-- just try again, I know you can do it.” 

He had always been a coward, at heart. Remus knew that better than anyone else, despite all the assurances his friends and family had made. He had always been weak, too weak to keep his friends safe, too weak to right those wrongs now.

He had never belonged in Gryffindor, not in the way that the others had. He had no nerve, had no bravery. Only a selfishness that kept him safe, safe and losing his mind to the madness of it all. 

Well, Remus thought bitterly, mind drifting, as it always did, back to Sirius. That makes two of us, doesn’t it? 

Hours later, he stole his thoughts away from the near constant debate in his mind, watching the students who lingered in his classroom. There were always a few students, it seemed, who wanted to study there. They were spread out, just then, scattered between a few desks. They were all being relatively quiet, copying things down from textbooks and sorting through their notes in preparation for their exams. 

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were sitting in adjoining desks, sharing notes in lowered voices. Luna Lovegood had found herself a sunny spot by the window, paging through a battered copy of “A History of Magic” as if she weren’t really seeing it. Behind her, Ginny Weasley was lying face down on an open book, lightly snoring. A few others were scattered throughout, rubbing their eyes as they tried to brave another long night ahead. 

Hermione had stuffed herself by the corner, practically hidden by several stacks of books, drowning in all of the work she had to do. Remus felt a pang of sympathy for her, remembering his own desperate need to belong in the Wizarding world, however hard he had to work for that. Though maybe it was less of a memory, he thought now, than it was a constant ache. 

“Nightly reminder,” Remus called out. “Go get your dinners, please. You all need to eat.” 

The students looked up, giving him a cursory nod before turning back to their work. Hermione was so glued to her studies that she didn’t even budge. Exams, Remus thought vaguely, were the worst. He stood, cracking his back. No one bothered moving at the sound. 

He tapped the portrait behind him, one of the late Alberta Toothill, who once upon a time had been the defending All-England Dueling Champion. Of course, that was in the 15th century, and Remus wasn't sure how useful she’d be now. 

“You’re in charge for the next twenty minutes,” Remus instructed. “Make sure they don’t do anything crazy.” 

Alberta nodded solemnly, brandishing her wand. A green light shot from the end, and Remus held back a sigh as he walked away. He left the room quickly, the tired students barely realizing that he had gone. A few old memorized secret passageways led him straight to the kitchens, where two dozen house elves stared up at him as if they were waiting to be punished. 

“Lupin?” one of them asked, frowning. “Remus Lupin?” 

“That’s me,” Remus said, trying for a smile. “Not here to cause trouble, though, I swear.” 

The house elf frowned, and Remus recognized her as the one who used to bring him chocolate after the full moons, staying out of sight but always making sure he got to it before James, Peter, or Sirius could. 

“You graduated,” she said, brandishing a ladle. 

“I came back to teach,” Remus said, opening his arms as if to say he didn’t know why either. 

She smiled finally, a chipped tooth breaking over her lower lip. “Are you here to steal food again?” 

“For my students,” Remus said, as if it made up for all of the times he and James had snuck down here to snatch a bit of the next night’s desserts. “They’re missing dinner because they’re studying, and I want to make sure they eat.” 

“Hm,” the house elf said, and Remus wracked his mind trying to remember her name. “What room?” 

“Classroom 3C on the third floor,” Remus answered. “Could you possibly?” 

The house elf nodded. “Done.” 

“Thank you,” Remus told her, trying to make up for all of the times he hadn’t said thank you before. 

“No need for thanks,” the house elf muttered, but she did so in a way that made Remus think maybe she wanted the thanks anyways. He would find out her name if there was a next time, he promised himself. 

Remus left the kitchens, making his way back to the Defense classroom. There was a lightness to his step that hadn’t been there in a while, and he couldn’t quite name the reason, but he was thankful for it. Back in the Defense classroom, two tables were lined with the best from the Great Hall, and the students studying had all helped themselves to meals. 

“Thank you,” Remus told Alberta, giving her a curt nod. She mimicked him, brandishing her wand again as if to signal that there had been no trouble. 

Remus took a quick survey of the classroom, trying to see if he could help anyone. Seamus and Dean, working on Charms. Luna, History of Magic. Ginny, studying the bottom of a mug of coffee. Neville, Transfiguration. Astoria Greengrass, a frail first year who looked like she was about to cry, reading through a Potions book. Hermione, in the corner, looking skin and bone with how hard she was working herself.

Remus went over to the table, putting together a small plate of pasta and cookies, and brought them over to Hermione. “You need to take care of yourself or all of this studying will be for nothing.” 

She looked up at him, and he could see the rings under her eyes, like she hadn’t slept in weeks. “What?” 

“You need to take care of yourself,” Remus repeated, “or all of this studying will be for nothing. That means eating. And sleeping.” 

Hermione glanced at Remus, trying to read his expression before giving up and taking the plate. “Thank you, Professor.” 

Remus nodded. “Can I do anything more for you? If you need any help on any subject, I can give it my best shot.” 

“I think I’m okay,” Hermione said hesitantly, “but thank you, sir.” 

“Okay,” Remus said, moving to stand up. Next, he needed to make sure Astoria wasn’t going to have a complete breakdown over Severus’ class. Severus didn’t deserve that much power over anyone. He smiled at Hermione. “I’m always here to answer questions if you come up with anything.” 

“Wait,” Hermione said, then looked away as if she regretted saying it. “Nevermind. It’s not important.” 

Remus frowned, settling back down in his seat. “What’s wrong?” 

“I was just…” Hermione stopped, looking back down at her reading. “It’s not about exams.” 

“That’s okay,” Remus said, though he didn’t know what she would want to talk about other than exams, especially not her and not right now. “What is it about?” 

“Sirius Black,” she said, the name sounding cold and foreign to her tongue. 

Remus, who knew all the warmth of the name, shivered. “What-- what about him?” 

“You were friends,” Hermione said weakly, having lost all confidence as Remus darted away from her gaze. “I just… I want to know more about him. Who he is. What he wants.” 

Remus shook his head slowly. It felt like a century passed before he remembered how to speak again. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Hermione. The man I knew was gone long ago.” 

It always came back to Sirius, Remus knew. At the end of everything, when the world had spun full circle and the moon had swallowed her light, all that would be left was the space where Sirius Black used to stand. When the sun finally burnt out, Sirius would be the nuclear shadow plastered against Remus’ eyelids. When the next war broke out and took everything else away, Sirius would die a second, a third, a fourth time. A thousand deaths, and still, Remus would never get used to the betrayal, would never stop grieving.


	10. judgement (upright)

Remus and Harry continued their lessons, despite Harry’s mastering of the Patronus Charm. They worked on other advanced things, and Remus tried to shake off the feeling that he was building Harry up to be another soldier. He didn’t know if there would be another war, he prayed with everything he had that there wouldn’t be, but he knew that there were whispers among the Dark creatures, rumors that Voldemort was going to rise again. 

“Tell me more about the Dementors,” Harry asked, nibbling on a piece of chocolate. They had just worked on the Snake-Vanishing curse, one that Harry thought would never be useful since he could just talk to snakes, but had a lot of fun practicing on the snakes Remus conjured up anyways. 

Remus shrugged, sitting down next to him. They were in the empty Defense classroom, sitting on the steps which led up to his office. “I don’t claim to be an expert,” he said, though he had done plenty of research in the past twelve years. 

Harry thought about that, as if he doubted it, and Remus again reminded how smart he was. Harry took another bite of the chocolate. “What’s under a Dementor’s hood?” 

“I’m afraid we don’t know,” Remus said, a sinking feeling in his chest. “Those who do know are unable to tell us.” 

“Why not?” 

“The Dementor lowers its hood only to ever use its last and most wicked weapon,” Remus told him. “They call it the Dementor’s Kiss. They clamp their jaws on the victim and quite literally suck out their soul.” 

Harry flinched at that, and Remus could imagine the thoughts running through his head, because the same ones were running through his own. “They kill-- ”

Remus shook his head, and Harry stopped. “It’s worse than death. Your body can keep going, even when your soul is gone. You exist as a shell, no feelings, no memories, no happiness, no desire. Your soul-- everything that makes you who you are-- is lost forever.” 

“Oh,” Harry said in a small voice. 

Remus nodded. He took a bite of chocolate, wishing he had something stronger. He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye, trying to judge what his next words should be. There was so much hesitation in his life, so much fear. 

“It’s the fate that awaits Black,” Remus said, trying to keep his voice light. “They announced it in the Daily Prophet this morning." 

They sat in silence for a moment longer, digesting chocolate and that information. 

“He deserves it,” Harry finally said, steeling his jaw “After what he did.” 

Remus nodded, though he felt somewhat sickened by the movement. “Do you really believe that anyone truly deserves that? Life without living?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, defiant at first, but then hesitating. “I mean, for some things, I guess.” 

“For this?” 

“He as good as killed my parents. He’s a traitor.” 

“I know,” Remus said softly. “Maybe he does deserve it. I suppose I’m biased.” 

Harry frowned at him. The shadows cast over his face made him seem dangerous in a way Remus knew that his student could never be. “What do you mean?” 

“I just mean,” Remus said, not quite sure where he was going with this before he said it, “I suppose I just don’t like Dementors, whatever they’re doing. Nasty things.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, but he said it with a hesitance, as if he were spotting the chinks in Remus’ armor. “They are.” 

They sat there in silence for another moment, the only sound the hurried footsteps of students out in the corridor. Finally, Remus told Harry he should go get some sleep before his classes tomorrow. Class would be a fun one for the third year Defense students, Remus told him with a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t fully there. 

Harry went off with a smile, still holding a bar of chocolate in his hand. Remus watched him go, growing smaller down the long corridor, as if Remus were watching time spin back around, Harry grow younger, more innocent. But there was no changing the past.

Remus sat in his classroom for a while more, watching the students the corridors pass by. Eventually, the steady stream of people faded away, until Remus could only hear the heavy echo of someone running. 

“Stop-- ” Sirius was yelling, voice bounding off of arched ceilings. His voice was high, only thirteen years old and afraid of speaking too softly for fear of being forgotten. “Re, just stop running, please.” 

Sirius caught up, reaching out and grabbing Remus’ arm. Remus spun around, something wild in his eyes. He had never feared losing control more than he did in that moment. However much he knew the wolf only came out on full moons, if Sirius kept his hand around Remus’ wrist like that for much longer, Remus might start screaming or crying, and he wasn’t sure which would be worse. 

“What, Sirius?” Remus asked, words a sharper bite than he wanted them to be. 

“Stop running,” Sirius said, breathing hard. He had chased Remus up and down three flights of stairs and four secret passageways, and his face was heated. “Stop running and look at me, Lupin.” 

Remus turned away again, tugging his wrist away, but Sirius held fast. “Let go of me, Black.” 

“Then face me!” Sirius snapped. “You haven’t been able to talk to me in weeks, and I want to know what-- stop trying to run from your damn feelings!” 

“I stopped,” Remus said shortly, arm going slack and standing marble-still, valiantly refusing to look at Sirius. “Now what?”

Sirius dropped Remus’ wrist. “Just talk to me. Just-- Merlin, Remus, I know-- I know you’re feeling-- feeling something, and don’t deny it because I can see it in the way you look at me-- ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus said, glaring. There was fire in his eyes and in his gut and everything in him was burning, and he knew, he just knew, that Sirius was the one who set him aflame. It had always been Sirius. 

He turned to go, but Sirius caught his hand again, but this time his grip moved from wrist to palm, pulling him over so they faced each other. “Just tell me what you want,” Sirius whispered, voice heavy, “and I’ll give it to you. Just please, be my friend again.” 

Remus glared, eyes narrow, and they were thirteen and didn’t know how to control their tempers, and this was the last crack of a piece of wood before it succumbed to the flame. “I want to kiss you, Sirius. I want to kiss you, that’s what I want. Happy now?” 

Sirius stared at him. “What?”

“What’d you think?” Remus growled, silver dropping through his bones. “Is that not what you wanted to hear? Is that not-- ”

But his words were cut off because Sirius was kissing him, right there in the empty corridor, the only sound the soft click their teeth made when they touched, the only breath the one caught in Remus’ throat. If he thought he had known fire before this, that was nothing compared to the forest crumbling and burning beneath his skin now. 

Sirius had his hands on Remus’ face, pulling him in, and it took a moment to realize what was happening, before Remus moved his hands to Sirius’ waist, holding close, closer than he had ever dared to dream about, not while Sirius was only a few feet away. 

The moment seemed to last forever, but also no time at all. Sirius pulled back, skin flushed, breaths shallow. The two stared at each other, and Remus thought that nothing in the world would matter except for Sirius and the way that he was looking at Remus, hungry and pining, as if this was all he had ever wanted. 

“That was my first kiss,” Sirius said. 

He looked at Remus again, and something in his expression changed. The hunger shifted into something fearful, something angry and feral, and Remus knew Sirius well enough to know that the shadow in Sirius’ eyes had never meant anything good. 

Remus didn’t smile. “I don’t need your goddamn pity.” 

There were several types of ghostly spirits, Remus knew. He listed them in his head as he stood at the front of the classroom and watched just a sliver of the empty corridor.

There were your typical ghosts, the ones that haunted Hogwarts’ hallways, giving wrong directions or recommending the best corners to hide in. They were mostly harmless, having no physical form or way of affecting the mortal world. They hung onto life because they had regrets or attachments to the world that they couldn’t forget in death. 

There were poltergeists, like Peeves, who sang out a chorus of “Loony, loopy, loopy Lupin” whenever Remus walked down the hallway. They were slightly more dangerous, because they could touch and throw tangible objects, and they were just manifestations of chaos, not evil. 

Then, Remus knew, there were the personal horrors. The memories which were so achingly tangible in your mind that they haunted your waking hours as well as your sleeping ones. The memories which drove you slowly insane, watching ghosts of your former life playing out in front of you. The spirits there danced and laughed, happy as they had been in life, and everytime Remus looked into the memory of James Potter’s eyes, he wanted nothing more than to join him in death. 

Those were the dangerous ones. The ghosts who kept you cold and shivering, wondering how things would be different if you yourself were different, better. The ghosts who whispered in your ear words they had already said long ago, unable to say anything new. The ghosts who were never really there at all, but felt so real that Remus could taste Sirius’ lips on his own, sitting alone in his office. 

He had smelled of burn hazel and dirt from Greenhouse 2. He had tasted like the pumpkin juice they had at dinner. He had touched Remus and kissed him and their lips fit together as well as their hands did, and that was the brilliant, white-hot fire that kept the Earth spinning. 

But it was a memory, and it wasn’t a good one, either. He had stolen Sirius’ first kiss, tainted it. Sirius had never wanted him, not like that. A first kiss in third year and a stolen night in sixth year and three million longing glances would never change that. 

They were just memories, Remus reminded himself, tearing his eyes away from the empty corridor. All of these voices in his head, all of the visions he was losing himself to, wasting away with the longing for them-- they were all days past. Sometimes, he knew, there was nothing left to do but forget. 

“Have you kissed anyone?” James asked, at the end of the third year. It was the kind of thing that was always on his mind, now, growing up and finding a girl to love and making Lily Evans give him the time of day. 

“No,” Sirius said. 

In the dark of his bedroom, where Remus was very carefully pretending to be sleeping, no one saw him break. 

When the morning came, he put himself back together again as if nothing happened. He didn’t know what it was that pulled him out of bed and into his office every morning, whether it was strength or fear, but he managed to get there. With tired feet and shivering hands, he made it there, glueing all of his trembling limbs into what passed for a human being. 

“Professor?” 

Remus looked up from his desk, not at all surprised to see Harry standing at the door, tugging at his sleeves nervously. His hair ran wild around his face, and Remus frowned, seeing the deep shadows under his eyes. 

“Come in,” Remus said. “How can I help you?” 

Harry sat down gingerly in the chair across from him, smoothing out a wrinkle in his pants more out of habit than anything else. 

“In my first year,” Harry started, “Hagrid gave me a photo album of my parents’ photos. He said he reached out to some friends who might have still had them.” 

Remus nodded, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “I remember that. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing with the photos, only that it was for you.” 

“You sent him some, then?” Harry asked, sitting up straight. 

“Yes,” Remus said. “Peter got very into photography one year-- my sixth or seventh, I think-- and took about two million photos. Got half of them developed in the Muggle way for my mum and Lils-- she wanted to show them to her sister-- and the other half the magical way for the rest of us.”

Harry watched him, a ghost of a smile on his face. Lils-- the old nickname had slipped from Remus’ mouth before he could stop it, but in looking at Harry’s rapt attention, he couldn’t stop himself from continuing. He had been their friend, and there was no shame in that. He was Harry’s professor, and there was a thin, careful line here, but showing him photos of his school days didn’t cross it. He didn’t think so, at least. He’d do it for any student. 

“I sent Hagrid some of the latter ones,” Remus said. “I’m glad he got them to you.”

“Do you still…” 

Remus smiled, for real this time. “Would you like to see?” 

Harry nodded eagerly, and Remus chuckled. Standing and going over to the nearby bookshelf, next to a tank of Grindylows, he pulled out a large box. He didn’t make a habit of going through the old photos, unable to bring himself to do it, but he kept the box with him anyways. 

It was the box of photos collected just before Hogwarts graduation. He and the other Marauders had exchanged photo boxes as a graduation gift-- Remus making one for Peter, Peter one for Sirius, Sirius one for James, James one for Remus. 

“Merlin,” Remus said, setting the box down and taking off the cover to rifle through it. “I forgot how many of these I had. Oh, they were supposed to be in chronological order but it looks like they’ve shifted themselves around. That’ll be James’ doing, I suppose.” 

Harry smiled at him, a real, honest smile, and leaned over to look into the box. Remus pulled out a photo at random-- James and Peter, first years, beaming as they rode broomsticks for the first time. James was already a natural, rising up higher and higher, until he was out of sight of the camera. Peter was a little more nervous, holding tight to the broomstick but slowly making his way upwards as well. 

“Here,” Remus said, handing over the picture. “Your father, on that side. And the other one’s Peter Pettigrew, one of his best friends.” 

“The one Sirius Black killed,” Harry noted, taking the picture. “Oh, he does look like me, Professor.” 

Remus smiled wryly, ignoring the comment on Sirius. “Did you think people were exaggerating?” 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “Do you-- do you have any of my mother?” 

“I’m sure I do somewhere,” Remus said, shuffling around the photos. “The four of us put together boxes like this for each other as graduation gifts. This is the one James made, so there’s got to be a bunch of photos of Lily here too.” 

“He loved her a lot,” Harry said quietly. He looked over at Remus. “Didn’t he?” 

“More than anything,” Remus confirmed. 

He pulled out another photo-- Lily and James just as they were turning teenagers. James was trying to impress her, tossing and catching a Golden Snitch while Lily rolled her eyes at him. She made a grab for the Snitch every now and then, as if just to annoy him, but that only made James grin bigger. 

“They’re fourteen or so in this, I think,” Remus said, handing it over to him. “James spent the better part of seven years trying to make her like him. Made himself look like a fool in the process, but she came around.”

Harry traced a finger over James’ laugh, as if trying to put himself in the moment, find a piece of his family that he had never known. Remus remembered what Harry had said about the Dementors, how he had heard his parents scream as they died. But this childlike, carefree laughter was something that he had never known. 

“Here,” Remus said, taking out another one. James and Lily were dancing, her leading and dipping James to kiss him sweetly. James was turning pink at the ears, his bowtie all ruffled, but Lily didn’t seem to mind. “Senior Ball.” 

“My parents,” Harry said, smiling in wonder as he watched them dance. Lily spun them in a circle, and James laughed, the sound almost bleeding through the page. “They’re not very good dancers.” 

Remus laughed at that, watching as Harry examined the photo. “James was a terrible dancer, but Lily was decent enough. He took months of lessons before their wedding so he could surprise her at their first dance. He dragged us all along with him, so I can confidently say that now I know the ins and outs of every dance style in Britain.” 

“You were closer than I thought,” Harry said, looking up at Remus. He was biting his tongue, Remus could tell, holding back a thousand questions. 

“He was like a brother to me,” Remus admitted. “He never treated me with anything less than love. He was a good man, James.” 

Remus pulled out another photo, one of Lily and James lying together on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. James was fast asleep, mouth wide open, lying on top of her. Lily was clearly trying to shush whoever was taking the picture, but she could help but laugh while she did it. 

It had definitely been Sirius who had taken this photo, Remus was sure of it. He kept his hand steady as he gave it to Harry, who took the photo with a smile. 

“Sixth year,” Remus said, “they fell asleep together on the couch, the first indication they actually were going to fall in love. Of course, we all knew James liked her, always had, but Lily, we weren’t sure about. Merlin, I teased her about this photo for months.” 

Sirius had developed the photo and pinned it up on the common room notice board, with a caption, written in all caps, that read “FINALLY.” Lily had been furious, but as soon as James turned his back, she was grinning like mad. She didn’t hate him, never had. 

Remus swallowed, trying to push off the memory. He turned back to the box, pulling out another photo. It was a group photo, one that had taken hours of corralling people into place to get. Sirius, if Remus remembered correctly, had almost had a breakdown due to the sheer lack of cooperation between them all. 

“Here,” Remus said, handing over the photo. “Group photo, taken on the last few days of my fourth or fifth year, I think. Oh, no, it must have been fourth, because the Prewett twins still had that awful haircut. Look, Gideon and Fabian, there-- with the red hair and the smile like they’ve already hexed you and they’re just waiting for it to kick in.” 

Harry chuckled, following Remus’ finger as he named the others in the group. 

“Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas,” Remus said, pointing at a trio of girls. Lily sat next to them, leaning her head against the shoulder of a dark skinned girl with bright, intelligent eyes. The other two had their arms around each other, the shorter one holding the taller one’s hand tightly. “They were the other Gryffindors in our year, Lily’s best friends. Marlene was her maid of honor, after her sister turned her down.” 

“She asked Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked, surprised. 

Remus nodded. “Even after everything, Lily always wanted to give her sister another chance. We all thought it was hopeless, honestly, but she did come to the wedding last minute, with that husband of hers.” 

“Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, the same distaste rising in his mouth. 

“I never liked either of them,” Remus said. “But Lily trusted them, and so they came to the wedding. I think Petunia even cried, though that might have been because Vernon kept stepping on her toes when they danced.” 

Harry smiled at the thought, never one to sympathize with his aunt and uncle. “Who are the rest of them?” 

“Dedalus Diggle,” Remus said, pointing towards a short, curly haired man. “I think you met him, didn’t you? And there, to his left, that’s Benjy Fenwick, and next to Benjy is Hestia Jones. Talented witch, she is. Hell on fire with a Reductor Curse.” 

Remus smiled to himself, watching Hestia, a few years younger than the rest of them, stand on her toes to make herself taller than Benjy. Benjy was rolling his eyes, pink at the cheeks.

He moved his finger to another pair of people, a woman pressing a kiss to the cheek of a man grinning with pretend shock. “Alice and Frank Longbottom. They had been dating for a few months by then, I think.” 

Harry nodded, but he wasn’t really listening. His eyes were drawn to the last four people in the photo, four young boys grinning like fools at the camera, standing front and center. “That’s you,” Harry said, “and my father.” 

“Yes,” Remus confirmed, tapping the photo soft enough that he didn’t leave a fingerprint. The four of them were caught laughing, James doubled over with an arm around Peter. Peter was beaming, proud of whatever joke he had just made, while Remus-- his were caught on Sirius’ smile, the same way they always had been. “James, then Peter and me, and then… that’s Sirius.” 

“He’s laughing,” Harry said quietly. 

Remus nodded. “We were happy, back then. All of us. The war was a distant thought, something that couldn’t touch us while we were at Hogwarts. None of us were thinking about spies or murder or betrayal.” 

“What happened to all of these people?” Harry asked, but Remus could see the unspoken question lingering under that-- “Why didn’t any of them try to find me? If they loved my parents so much, didn’t they care?” 

Remus took a breath, looking down at the photo. They were all smiling, no idea what was coming. 

“Mary’s doing alright,” he started. “She’s in Ireland, I think, working on a Selkie sanctuary. She reminds me of your friend Neville, actually. Hestia’s working for the Ministry in France, trying to deal with some Statute of Secrecy things. I haven’t heard from her in a while though, we kind of lost touch after everything.” 

“And the rest of them?” Harry asked, after a long pause. 

“Dead,” Remus told him, voice hard, unforgiving. “Or worse.” 

Harry swallowed, looking away from the photograph. “Oh. I’m-- I’m sorry, Professor.” 

“It’s alright,” Remus said, trying for a weak smile. “It was war. But their sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.” 

“No?” 

“No,” Remus said, studying Harry. “We won the war, as best we could. That’s something.” 

However well you won the war, however well you fought, you still lost something. You lost something you would never be able to get back, Remus knew that better than anyone. He had given up everything that he was in order to win the war, and he didn’t know quite where that had gotten him.

But Harry was alive, and a whole generation of students with him were alive. A generation of students born during wartime-- a quarter of the size of previous classes-- were all there, alive and breathing. Making friends and growing up without both parents and learning magic and fearing the past and taking exams and learning to be better, in this new world given to them. 

They were children, Remus reminded himself, watching as the students gathered for their final exam. They were children born out of war and learning to be peaceful. He hoped that nothing would ever change that. 

The final was meant to be manageable, a practical exam made up of spells and defenses that the students had been building up all year. They had learned well, Remus noted, as the next student stepped up to the obstacle course he had made for the third years. 

Neville gave him a weak smile as he moved onto the course, wand ready. His hands were steady, and Remus could see his back straighten as he moved through it. All Neville had needed, Remus thought, was someone to believe in him. 

“Your exam appears to be laughably easy,” a voice said next to him. Remus looked up from the clipboard he was writing notes on, seeing as Severus joined him in watching the class. 

“Or,” Remus suggested mildly, “my students just understand the material.”

Severus practically growled at him. “Are you insinuating-- ”

“Not at all,” Remus hurried to say. “I’m sure your students understand Potions just as well.”

“They do,” Severus said, voice dark. 

They watched as Neville stumbled in the big with the red caps, nearly dropping his wand, but regaining his composure at the last minute. Remus looked on approvingly, marking down the stumble and recovery on his paper. 

“I never received the werewolf essays I assigned,” Severus said, watching Neville as he continued past the red caps. 

“As you were only an interim professor,” Remus said, keeping his voice as steady as he could make it, “I told the students they would not be held accountable for that work.”

“They shouldn’t be left with no work every month because you are—“ Snape’s lip curled as he glanced around them. “Indisposed.”

Remus nodded, but his heart was in his throat. “Which is why I assign them homework ahead of time. I plan for these nights.”

“You’ve been planning such things for a long time,” Severus said, Remus caught the cold feeling that there was more to his words than Remus was hearing. 

“I’ve lived this life a long time.”

Severus smiled, cruel and twisted. “You always had a lot of secrets to keep.”

Remus shivered despite the afternoon sunlight. He marked another check down on his clipboard as Neville successfully banished his Boggart-- which remained Severus Snape, a fact which no doubt made him hate Remus more. 

“Do you need something, Severus?” Remus asked, turning to him. “Because I need to watch these students.”

“I was just wondering,” Severus said coolly. “When you were going to tell Dumbledore you’re in love with Sirius Black.” 

Remus froze. The sunlight seemed to take a dip into shadow, the afternoon suddenly turning to cool moonlight. Remus took a deep breath, keeping his hands steady, so steady, but he was shivering. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus said, voice hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Severus didn’t say anything, just stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes. “If I were you, I’d tell him sooner rather than later. I’d hate for a thing like that to… slip… out, especially now that Black is well and truly damned.”

“You wouldn’t,” Remus said, but his voice caught in his throat. He didn’t know how to breathe anymore, as if every muscle in his body, every instinct washing over a dead corpse. 

“Try me,” Severus said. 

Then he spun on his heel, stalking away. Even after he had gone, though, his shadow seemed to linger, leaving a frozen ice over Remus’ skin, rooting him in place. 

No one was ever supposed to know. Sirius hadn’t even known, not really, not the way Remus wanted to tell him. James, Peter, Lily, none of them had ever guessed, Remus was almost sure of that much. 

He clenched his jaw shut, trying to motion the next student forward. But he couldn’t move his limbs, didn’t have any control over his body. It was like being the wolf again, but in broad daylight, unable to control his movements and unable to stop his thoughts from blurring beyond recognition. 

He didn’t know how Severus had figured it out, Merlin, Remus had been so careful, every movement and smile so calculated, every secret buried so far under his heart that he thought no one would ever be able to understand the depths of his hurt. 

But Snape, here he was, telling-- no, threatening Remus with the only kind of exposure that he feared as much as his students finding out he was a werewolf. 

“Professor?” someone asked, stepping next to him. 

Remus blinked once, twice. “Yes, sorry, Parvati. You may go.”

She nodded and, flicking her hair behind her ear, stepped up to the course. She managed her way through the first parts fine, shaky, but alright. She stopped short at the Boggart, and Remus could see the trunk open, revealing a towering ogre, and she stumbled backwards, raising her wand with a trembling hand. 

“Riddikulus!” she yelled, voice strong.

A true Gryffindor, Remus thought bitterly as she banished the Boggart back to the trunk. 

Grinning, she made her way off of the course, looking expectantly at Remus. He gave her a thumbs up, the movements stilted and jerky. He hadn’t written anything down for her exam notes, but she had done fine. 

Severus, his mind tried again. Then, Sirius.

When they were twelve years old, Remus had woken up in the hospital wing, a white bandage over his left eye, masking his vision. He swallowed, his throat parched and all his muscles heavy, and tried to sit up. 

“Don’t,” a soft voice said. “You’ll hurt yourself. Madame Pomfrey said-- what did she say, James?”

“You broke your arm,” another voice said, and a chill ran through Remus, freezing him in place, though his arm was aching. 

Remus turned, trying to see out of his good eye, and found James, Sirius, and Peter sitting next to his hospital bed, looking all too concerned for this twelve year old monster. 

“What are you doing here?” Remus asked, voice hoarse. 

“Water,” Peter instructed, handing over a small glass. Remus took it gratefully, trying to hide a wince. Maybe if they didn’t know how hurt he was, they wouldn’t put everything together. 

“Thank you,” Remus whispered. “What are you all doing here?” 

Sirius shrugged, flicking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “We’re your friends. Of course we’re going to be here when you’re hurt.” 

“I’m-- ” Remus paused, taking a drink of water. It was cool, washing over an empty stomach. The wolf was always so hungry, starving for something human. “How did you know I was here?” 

“We’re not stupid,” Peter said quietly. “Of course we noticed when you were sneaking away every month. Like clockwork. We figured you went to the hospital wing after.” 

James smiled at him, a hesitant, unsure smile that made Remus ache. “We thought we’d bless you with our presence while you’re in the hospital wing. Because obviously you’re missing us.” 

There was a question there, one that Remus wanted to ask, one echoing in his head like a drumbeat making everything ache. His eyes darted between them all, waiting for the ball to drop, waiting for the accusations to start. His parents had warned him about this, about what happened when people found out about his condition, about all the hate that would start pouring in. 

As if he had read his mind, Sirius nodded. “Yeah, we know.” 

“About me?” Remus asked, voice cracking. “And you…” 

“We don’t care,” James said, voice hard. “You’re our friend. We’re gonna stick by you.” 

Remus stared. “You…?” 

“Don’t care,” Sirius said, the same confidence in his voice that James had. There was no room for argument here, no room for questions, though Remus had a hundred. “Like Jamie said, you’re our friend.” 

“Peter?” Remus asked, swallowed. 

James elbowed him and Peter sat up straight saying,“I don’t care either. So what if you’re a…a werewolf. You’re our friend every other night of the month, one bad night isn’t gonna change anything.” 

“It’s not one bad night. I’m dangerous,” Remus whispered. The words were familiar on his tongue, a truth he had known for so long, now voiced to the only friends he had ever known. “I’m a monster.” 

James rolled his eyes. “I saw you cry over the dead fly on our windowsill, Re. Forgive me if I don’t shake at the sight of you.” 

“I’m a monster,” Remus repeated. “You don’t have to pretend I’m not.” 

“Good thing we’re not pretending,” Sirius said cheerfully. “We can skip past the whole ‘I’m a monster’ thing and go right to the ‘Remus Lupin, I’m your friend and I love you’ thing.” 

It was the first time any of them had said they loved each other. 

It had slipped out before Sirius could stop it, and the moment of silence that followed held the tension of a rubber band stretched across a hallway. Sirius’ eyes flicked between them all, his body suddenly tensing up, the constant tapping of his fingers stilled. He was from a home that didn’t love, Remus knew, and the darting of his eyes was his fight or flight response turning the gears in his head like a well oiled machine. 

Finally, James broke into a smile, because they were twelve and love was easy for a boy who had always had it. “Merlin, I love all of you guys.” 

“Thank you,” Remus murmured.

He was never sure which of them, if any, heard it when he said that. They changed the topic fairly quickly, moving on from the werewolf thing as if it didn’t matter at all. To them, to the only friends Remus had ever known, it didn’t matter. He was still the kid he had always been. 

It was a strange topic at first, one they only spoke about in hushed whispers. Eventually, it became a symbol of their trust for each other-- they were all in on it together, making them more than friends. Remus couldn’t ever have been thankful enough. 

Even now, with James and Peter gone where Remus couldn’t find them, with Sirius being a traitor, no one had ever breathed a word. Sirius had every reason to give up the secret-- he had gotten James and Peter killed, and nothing was stopping him from destroying Remus’ life as well-- but he didn’t. Even if Sirius was going to kill him one of these days, it was the one secret Remus knew he would never tell. 

Maybe that was why, Remus thought, he couldn’t believe that Sirius was a traitor. Maybe that was why, as he watched the last student confront the obstacle course, he couldn’t bring himself to confess he knew how Sirius was getting into the castle. After all of these years, all of these deaths, Remus couldn’t help but think that Sirius was still the twelve year old boy who said “I love you” to a werewolf, and Remus couldn’t help but be the werewolf who loved him back.


	11. justice (upright)

Remus had made a habit of sitting at his desk with the Marauder’s Map open in front of him, staring absentmindedly at the footsteps trailing around the castle. The map didn’t show everyone all of the time, just the people that you needed to see. There were thousands of people in the castle, but the map seemed to think he only cared about a few: Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, and Snape. 

The map was probably right. It usually was. That part had been James’ magic, and James usually got things right. 

Remus watched, tapping his wand against the table as a drumbeat, a habit he had never fully broken, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked onto the grounds to watch Buckbeak’s execution. At least, that’s what he figured they were doing while they stood on the hill over Hagrid’s hut. 

But then-- Remus sat straight up, staring hard at the map.

“No,” he whispered. 

Sirius Black had found them, taking Ron with him and-- it wasn’t just Ron. 

Remus’ heart stopped. 

He stood up. He held the map up to the light. Tapped it with a finger, as if to check that it was still working. As he stared, Ron, Sirius, and Peter Pettigrew all went under the Whomping Willow and disappeared. 

“Mischief managed,” Remus said, voice cracking as he tapped the map. He folded it up in his cloak, then ran. 

He had run this path a thousand times before, feet pounding on the pavement, three boys surrounding him. Race to the forest, James would call, and Sirius would push him over to get a headstart, and Peter would run, panting behind him, and Remus would outpace them for just a moment before his heart caught up with his legs, and Jesus Christ, nothing had changed at all. 

He ran past several students, ignoring their glances, ignoring the call of “Professor!” ignoring the way his heart was beating in his throat, he felt tears hit his cheeks, and he wasn’t sure if they were from the running or the cold air or the chant of-- Sirius, Peter, Harry, Sirius, Peter, Harry, Sirius-- in his head. 

He made it to the Whomping Willow in record time, flicking his wand at the knob which kept it still. The hole at the roots of the tree was wide, gaping, as if it were welcoming him after all of this time. He slid into the hole, climbing down the tunnel. The path was familiar, though he hadn’t taken it in years. He ran faster, faster, and as the wheels in his mind spun wildly, he knew what he would find at the end of the tunnel. 

“We’re up here!” someone screamed-- Hermione.

Remus ran faster, nearly tripping over the dislodged dirt. 

“We’re up here-- Sirius Black-- quick!” 

There was the sound of a short scuffle, as if someone pinned to the ground was trying to stand, and then Remus burst into the Shrieking Shack. To the corner stood Hermione, Ron lying at her feet, Harry with his wand pointing towards--

Remus’ stomach lurched at the sight and he blinked once, twice, hard. “Expelliarmus!” 

Harry and Hermione’s wands flew out of their hands, and Remus leaped to catch them, holding them tightly in his free hand. For a long moment, they all stood there in a shocked silence. The wind seemed to have stilled, and Remus thought about the howling and shrieking coming from this shack all of those years ago, and the dog who lay next to him for all of those moons. 

Sirius was lying on the ground, staring at Remus with wide eyes, Harry in front of him. He had been about to kill Sirius, Remus could tell, but his hands were shaking. He could never have done it. 

“Have you come to kill me?” Sirius asked, voice hoarse. Remus wondered how long it had been since he had spoken. The clothes hung off of him, the hollows of his eyes blackened and bruised. He might have been dead if Remus weren’t so familiar with the way his ghost looked like. 

“Where is he, Sirius?” Remus asked, trying very hard to keep his voice steady. It was the first time he had said Sirius’ name without hating himself for it. He kept his hand strong, wand still pointed at Sirius. 

Sirius stared at him for a long moment, a hundred other questions in the air between the two of them. Then, slowly, he pointed towards Ron. His hand shook, and Remus wanted to reach out, wanted to hold him, but something held him back. 

“Why hasn’t he shown himself-- Oh, oh,” Remus whispered, heart breaking. “You switched, without telling me…” 

Sirius’ eyes didn’t leave his, and the two stared at each other for a moment, trying to find their twenty year old selves in their gaze. Without saying anything, Sirius nodded. 

“Professor,” Harry interrupted, voice loud, breaking the tension, breaking the silence, but Remus didn’t care. 

He couldn’t care, because he lowered his wand, and shoved past Harry to get to Sirius.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, so soft, so ghostly that he didn’t think anyone else could hear him. Then he reached down his hand and Sirius took it, and they were touching for the first time in twelve years, Remus had Sirius in his hands, holding him close, not a ghost, not a murderer, but a friend. 

“He’s here,” Sirius said, voice breaking and putting itself back together again, as if he had said these words a hundred times. “He’s here, Remus, he’s here, he’s here-- ”

“I don’t believe it!” Hermione screamed, and Remus turned, not quite letting go of Sirius, but almost. “I trusted you! I trusted you and this whole time you’ve been helping him!” 

“Hermione,” Remus started, letting go of Sirius now and stepping forward. “No, that’s not…” 

Hermione glared, eyes fiery. “Don’t come any closer!” she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at him and looking between Remus and Harry. “You’ve been helping Black get into the castle, this whole time, you wanted Harry dead! He’s a werewolf, you can’t trust him!” 

There was a silence, and Remus’ heart dropped, feeling his face go white. Behind him, Sirius tensed, and Remus could remember the time Sirius hexed Barty Crouch Jr. for his anti-werewolf tirade during Potions, and Remus held out a hand. 

“Only one out of three, I’m afraid, Hermione,” Remus said carefully. “I’m disappointed.” 

Hermione still stared at him, trembling. She was thirteen, Remus reminded himself, she shouldn’t be mixed up in any of this. Behind her, Ron had an arm out to Hermione, as if to protect her, though he couldn’t stand. 

“I haven’t been helping Sirius,” Remus started, “and the last thing I want is Harry dead. I will not, however, deny that I am a werewolf.” 

Hermione took a step back, as if she hadn’t been sure, stumbling slightly over Ron. He let out a whimper, and Remus moved forward on instinct, his repertoire of healing spells at hand. 

“Get away from me, werewolf!” Ron yelled, and Remus stopped dead. 

His heart pulsing to the tune of Ron’s hatred, Remus stepped back, nodding. Remus could practically feel the anger radiating off of Sirius, but neither moved. 

“How long have you known?” Remus asked quietly, looking back to Hermione. His words came out strangled-- Ron was his student, one his favorites, but he could see the slurs at the tip of Ron’s tongue. 

“Since I wrote Snape’s essay,” Hermione said, voice strong again. 

Remus nodded stiffly, trying to force a laugh. “He’ll be delighted to hear that. You really are the brightest witch of your age, Hermione.” 

“Keep her name off your tongue,” Ron hissed, dragging himself to his feet. He put out an arm protectively. “You dirty-- ”

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Remus said slowly, putting his hands up. “That’s not what I’m here for.” 

“Remus, hurry up,” Sirius hissed from behind him. His voice was deep and angry, a howling reminder of what had happened twelve years ago. 

Remus shook his head, again putting an arm behind him as if to touch, but not quite reaching Sirius. “They deserve an explanation.” 

Sirius tightened his jaw, his eyes going darker than they had before, the lines at his forehead deepening. He turned behind them, sinking onto the mattress of the ripped four poster bed in the corner. He ran his hands through his hair, foot tapping insistently. The drumming of it was steady, anxious, and it grounded Remus to the moment. 

“Here,” he said, tossing the wands back to their owners and handing his own wand to Hermione. Sirius’ wand lay on the floor between them all. “You’re armed, we’re not. Please, just listen. I haven’t been helping Sirius.” 

“Then how did you know we were here?” Harry asked, glaring at Sirius. His glasses were crooked and Remus resisted the urge to point that out. 

“I was looking at the map, the Marauder’s Map, and-- ”

“You know how to work it?” Ron interrupted, the suspicion thick in his voice. 

Sirius let out a single bark of laughter. Remus ignored it, turning instead to Ron. “Of course I know how to work it,” he said, waving a hand. “I helped write it. I’m Moony-- that was my nickname at school.” 

Harry stared. “You wrote-- ”

“Not the point,” Remus said, cutting him off. “The point is that I was watching it this afternoon, because I knew you would sneak out to visit Hagrid, and I wanted to make sure nothing happened. You were wearing the cloak-- ”

“How’d you know about the cloak?” Hermione asked, her voice still with an edge of distrust. 

Remus sighed, waving his hand again. A cloud of dust rose up as he kicked at the floorboards. “I can’t count the number of times I saw James disappearing under it… Doesn’t matter. Even if you’re wearing the cloak, you still show up on the map. I watched you go into Hagrid’s hut, and then you left-- accompanied by someone else.” 

“There was no one else with us,” Harry said, raising his wand again. “The map must have been lying.” 

“The map never lies!” Sirius yelled from behind them, standing up and moving towards Remus with an impatient step. “Remus, please, I’m not waiting any-- ”

“Wait, Sirius,” Remus said, pushing him off. 

Sirius refused to be moved, pulling Remus close and practically shaking him. “I did my waiting! Twelve years of it! In Azkaban!” 

“They need to understand,” Remus hissed, putting his hands on Sirius’ chest. Sirius took a deep breath, backing away with a distressed hand on his head, practically shaking with the frustration. “Ron, I saw Sirius dragging the two of you into the Whomping Willow-- ”

“One of us!” Ron said angrily. 

Remus shook his head, dropping a hand at his side. “Ron, can I see your rat?

“What?” Ron asked. “What’s Scabbers got to do with it?” 

“Everything!” Sirius yelled. He moved forward, shoving past the piano to make a lunge at Ron, who was pulling Scabbers out of his robes. Remus grabbed at his shirt, the thin fabric uniform from Azkaban nearly ripping in his grip. He pulled Sirius back, ignoring Sirius’ glare. 

“I don’t-- ”

“That’s not a rat,” Remus said, voice hard. “Hand him over, please.” 

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, staring at Scabbers. “Of course he’s a rat.” 

Remus shook his head, letting go of Sirius’ shirt. He swallowed. “No, he’s not. He’s a wizard.” 

“An Animagus,” Sirius said with a sick kind of smile, “by the name of Peter Pettigrew.” 

There was a moment of silence while the statement sunk in. Sirius stared, eyes fire in a sunken grave. He was beautiful in a horrid kind of way, a skeleton of the handsome man he used to be. Remus didn’t want to tear his eyes away from him, twelve hungry years of longing finally given a feast. 

Remus turned, watching as Ron gripped harder to Scabbers, eyes flickering between Sirius and Remus. In the dark and echo of the shack, Remus could have sworn he heard the ghost of Peter laughing. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, staring. 

“Peter Pettigrew’s dead,” Harry said. “You killed him twelve years ago!”

Sirius’ face twitched slightly, bearing yellow teeth. “I meant to, but the little rat got the better of me, but not this time-- ”

He lunged forward again, arms reaching out, sharp and broken fingernails clawing out for Scabbers. Remus tried again to grab at him, but he missed, and Sirius only stumbled. Ron stood, scrambling back, Hermione grabbing at him as if to keep him safe. The rat was tight in his hands. 

“Sirius-- please-- we’ve got to-- ”

“Remus!” Sirius yelled, voice cracking. “I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for!” 

“You’re all crazy,” Harry said, stepping back in front of Ron and Hermione. They were huddled together in a group, trying to keep each other safe, though it was clear none of them felt it. 

“Hear me out!” Remus said, holding up a hand.

Hermione shook her head. “It can’t be true, we did Animagi in Transfiguration, and the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on Animagi. I wanted to look up Professor McGonagall in the registry, and there have only been seven this century-- Pettigrew isn’t one of them.” 

“Right again,” Remus said, actually cracking a smile this time. “But Sirius isn’t on that register either, is he? The Ministry never knew there used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts. Sirius, Peter, and your father, Harry. James.” 

“What?” Harry asked, looking as if he wanted to step forward. Hermione had a hand on his shoulder, as if waiting to hold him back, just in case. 

Sirius was pacing behind him, an agitated hand scratching at his throat. Remus looked away. “They found out I’m a-- a werewolf, and they accepted me like no one ever has before or since. To help make the transformations easier, they became Animagi.” 

“My dad too?” Harry asked. His eyes were wide. 

Remus nodded. “They-- Sirius and James-- were the cleverest students at Hogwarts, and it took the better part of three years to work out how to do it. They finally got it in our fifth year.” 

“How did that help?” Hermione asked. 

Remus was suddenly all too aware of Sirius’ breathing. In his head, they were fifteen years old again, after the first full moon they had spent together. Remus was lying on the ripped up bed, eyes closed and breath shallow. Sirius had sat next to him, a hand ghosting over his skin, as if afraid the skin would burn. 

“You can touch,” Remus murmured, and Sirius lay his hand on Remus’ back, rubbing a small circle into the skin with his thumb. 

The sun was almost rising, shedding a soft golden light into the room. James sat down next to Remus, the mattress sinking as he joined. Peter sat at the foot of the bed, not touching, but there all the same. 

The transformations were a lonely thing-- waking up in the morning, bleeding and naked and terrified of what he had done the night before. But that morning, he wasn’t alone. Sirius ran a hand over the clean skin, as if trying to keep him warm. James, still reeling off the high of his own transformation, had a soft smile as he looked down at Remus. His senses still heightened, Remus could feel it all. 

Turning to Hermione, Remus smiled softly. “Werewolves are only dangerous to humans. The three of them stayed with me all night as animals, and with them, I became less dangerous. Not in control, not entirely, but they kept me in check.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius said impatiently. “We’re Animagi, you’re taking your sweet time, Remus, I am done waiting-- ”

Remus waved a hand and Sirius quieted. “So Peter is an Animagus. A rat, specifically.” 

“But he killed him,” Harry said again, frowning. “Peter Pettigrew is dead.” 

“He’s right there,” Sirius growled, turning on his heel to look at Ron again. “He was the one who betrayed James and Lily, not me! He’s the fucking-- ”

“James and Lily,” Remus interrupted, voice loud, “put the Fidelius Charm on their location. The secret of the location is hidden in one person’s soul-- the Secret Keeper is the only person who knows the location and the only way the secret can be revealed is if that person willingly tells the secret.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, breathless. “And he was the Secret Keeper, and he-- betrayed-- them--” 

Harry jumped forward, towards Sirius, wand out, a snarl on his lips. 

“Harry!” Remus yelled, jumping between them. He pushed Harry back towards Ron and Hermione, putting his hands up. “Wait, Harry. That’s what I thought too, until tonight.” 

“We switched,” Sirius said bitterly, spitting the words out like they were poison. “I thought Voldemort would never suspect weak-- fumbling-- Peter-- Pettigrew-- and they would be safe. But he was the spy the whole fucking time.” 

There was a dark, hot silence. 

“Give me the rat,” Remus finally said. “Ron, give me the rat.” 

“What are you going to do to him?” Ron asked, voice weak. 

Next to him, Sirius reached out, taking his wand from the ground. Remus reached a hand out, bending his fingers slightly. “Just a simple spell to reveal an Animagi. If he’s really a rat, it won’t hurt him.” 

With a trembling hand, Ron handed Scabbers over. His fingers were bloodied from where the rat had been biting him, and as soon as Ron let go, the rat tried to scramble away, dodging Remus’ grip, but he held strong. Remus held the rat tightly, disgusted at the touch. 

“Come out, come out, Wormtail,” Sirius sang, grinning like a madman. A strand of hair was caught in his mouth, lips shining with spit. “Come on out, Peter!” 

Remus glanced at him, a fire in his gut that he hadn’t felt in years. Here in his hands, the one who had ruined everything, who had gotten James and Lily killed. His fur was rough and warm in his hands as Peter squirmed, and Remus’ lip curled in anger, the lines setting in his face. 

“Together?” Sirius asked, his teeth shining in the dim light. 

“I think so,” Remus said grimly, holding the rat by the scruff of his neck and letting him hang over the floor. 

With a flick of his wrist, a bright white light flashed from the wand, and Sirius cackled. The rat fell to the floor, and Remus had seen this happen a hundred times, enough to know how long it would take and the grin that would follow. The rat bent over and spilled outside of itself, the skin unravelling and growing, the fur shifting into skin, beady eyes widening and turning a watery brown. 

“Peter Pettigrew,” Remus spit, stepping in front of the students, shielding them. “Hermione, give me my wand back.” 

She handed it over wordlessly and Remus flexed his wrist, hearing a bone crack. The wand knew him as well as he knew himself, knew the need for revenge he had harboured for more than a decade. The transformation had finished, and where Scabbers had been squirming, Peter was standing in his place, glancing between Sirius and Remus as if he weren’t all there. 

“Sirius,” Peter squeaked out, voice hoarse. He probably hadn’t spoken in years, and Remus couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for him. “Remus, my old friends.” 

Peter moved towards Sirius, hands out, falling to his knees at Sirius’ feet, reaching towards his robes. “Oh, I missed you, my friends-- ”

“Get off of me,” Sirius growled, kicking out at him. “You dirty, filthy traitor-- ”

Peter shook his head, the skin at his neck caked in dirt. He turned over, crawling towards Remus, hands out. “Never, never me, Remus, you don’t believe this, do you? He-- he tried to kill me, Remus-- ”

Sirius raised his wand, the same fire in his eyes that seemed never to have died, even after years in Azkaban. Remus shook his head, a tight, curt motion, then raised his own wand. 

“I’d like to clear up a few matters with you, Peter,” Remus said, voice hard. Peter was sitting at his feet, eyes watering, hands up as if praying. “Were you or were you not James and Lily’s Secret Keeper? 

Peter’s eyes darted between Sirius and Remus, scrambling to his feet, shaking his head again, as if he was running on a loop. 

“You don’t understand,” Peter whispered, “the Dark Lord, he has weapons, weapons you wouldn’t believe.” 

He turned to Sirius, the same motion Remus had seen a thousand times before, seen him turn to someone else looking for the answer, seen him turn to someone else looking for comfort or validation. He turned, arms out, as if to touch, as if to hold, the same way he had done so many times before. Years and betrayals separated them all, but the motions were the same, however much Remus burned to see it. 

“Fucking coward,” Sirius hissed. “You coward!” 

“What would you have done?” Peter asked, voice hoarse. He turned to Remus. “Please, Remus-- ”

“I would have died!” Sirius roared, loud enough that Peter flinched, and behind him, Remus could hear Hermione’s sharp intake of breath. “I would have died rather than betray my friends! I would have died for them like I would have for you!” 

Peter stumbled back, cowering, a tear spilling over and down an unshaved chin. He turned to Remus, and Remus could see the fear in his eyes, the tremble of his hands as he reached out again. 

“Remus you don’t believe this,” Peter said in a gravelly voice, begging. “Wouldn’t they have told you? Wouldn’t they have told you if they switched the plan?” 

Remus stared at him for a brief moment before turning to look at Sirius over Peter’s head. “Not if they thought I was the spy. I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me?” 

“Forgive me,” Sirius said, ducking his head. He looked up, something unreadable in his eyes. “Remus.” 

“Of course,” Remus said. “And will you, in turn, forgive me for thinking you were the spy?” 

Sirius smiled at him, a real genuine smile under all the madness. Peter kneeled between the two of them, shaking slightly, his hands curled at his chest. 

“Of course,” Sirius told him.

There was never any hesitation there, just the words inked between them, a promise they kept making, over and over again. Promises and forgiveness and something better than love, more than human. Were they still-- had they ever been innocent? Remus decided he didn’t care. 

“You should have realized,” Remus said quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would.” 

Twelve years, Remus thought. James and Lily had been dead for twelve years without justice, Sirius had been in Azkaban for twelve years without justice, Harry had grown up alone while Peter Pettigrew had escaped without punishment. Remus steeled his gaze, the anger in his veins stronger and hotter than the blood. 

Remus glanced behind him, looking at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Go outside,” he said quietly. Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione tugged him away. 

Sirius stalked forward, grabbing Peter by the shirt and throwing him against the wall. Peter moved at his touch with a pathetic whimpering noise, hiding his face with a sick fear in the tremble of his hands. They stood next to each other, breathing in unison, their hearts aligned for the first time in twelve years. Remus could hear Sirius’ breath, hard and angry and finally, finally finding vengeance. 

Sirius nodded at him, then turned away. “Shall we kill him? Together?” 

“Yes,” Remus said. “I think so.”


	12. the fool (upright)

Remus dragged Peter Pettigrew’s body out of the Shrieking Shack. He would have used magic, but he didn’t feel a single second of remorse when Peter’s head cracked against a rock. He set Peter outside the entrance, where he stood for a long moment. The fresh air hit his skin hard, and he stumbled for a moment before turning to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Remus said quietly. “I know that-- ”

“He got what he deserved,” Harry said, voice hard. 

Remus nodded, not tearing his eye away from Harry. He took a breath, finally turning away from them. “Expecto Patronum,” he whispered, flicking his wand. A dog leaped from his wand, bounding around him in a small circle before coming to a stop at his side. “Tell Dumbledore I’ve got Peter Pettigrew at the Whomping Willow. Come alone.” 

Behind him, Sirius came out from under the Whomping Willow, stepping next to Remus. His eyes darted between Remus and Harry, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do now that he killed Peter. Remus looked over at him, offering a small smile. There were things that they needed to talk about, but that didn’t need to happen now. 

“You’re Sirius Black,” Harry said finally. “But you didn’t get my parents killed.” 

Sirius’ shoulders slumped, and he took a long breath. “I might as well have. I convinced James to switch Secret Keepers at the last minute. I was a coward. I knew he would go after me, and I thought-- I thought Voldemort wouldn’t bother with Peter. But he-- he had been the spy the whole time.” 

Remus sat down in the wet grass, next to Peter’s body. The dew soaked into his pants, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. “Harry, you deserved better.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly. 

He moved over to sit next to Remus, pulling his knees against his chest. Remus couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You killed him,” Hermione whispered. She was keeping Ron standing, but she herself looked like she was going to collapse. 

“Sit,” Remus said quietly. “You look like you’re going to fall down.” 

Hermione shook her head. “You’re a murderer.” 

“I know,” Remus said.

Next to the entrance, Sirius picked up a familiar old cloak, smiling grotesquely at the sight of it. There were a million memories attached to it, but just then, Remus didn’t want to relive any of them. 

“Harry,” Sirius said quietly. “Take the cloak. Get back to the castle before Dumbledore arrives. You don’t want to be involved in this.” 

Harry nodded, but he didn’t move. Hermione stumbled forward, still holding Ron up, and took the cloak. 

“Come on Harry,” she whispered, tugging at his shoulder. 

“Will you be here? After all this is over?” Harry blurted out. 

Remus wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to, and it didn’t seem like Harry knew either. He turned to Harry with a small smile. He reached into his cloak and handed a folded piece of parchment to Harry. “Here, take the map. It’s best that you pretend you don’t know anything.” 

Hermione tugged harder at Harry’s shoulder, and finally, he stood up. He took one last look, glancing between Remus and Sirius, and then took Hermione’s hand. She threw the cloak over the three of them, and disappeared into the night. 

The first person Remus Lupin killed was a Death Eater by the name of Nicolas Wilkes. He was in the same year as Remus at Hogwarts, and joined Voldemort’s forces as soon as they graduated. A pale, thin man, he looked like the guts and blood had been drained out of him and all that was left was a body strung together with Unforgivable Curses. He was one of the men who killed the McKinnons, Remus remembered, and that was how he justified the blood on his hands. 

It was war, he reminded himself, days and weeks and months after he killed him. It was war, and the green flash of Avada Kedavra was as familiar as the moonlight was. It was war, and people died every day. If Remus hadn’t killed Wilkes, Wilkes would have killed him. 

But they were kids, at the end of it. Fresh out of school, trying to fight for what they believed in. Wilkes had been tied up in Dark magic during their school days, and no one had expected him to change his ways after school ended. He had been one of the ones torturing Mary MacDonald when they found out she was a halfblood. 

Wilkes hadn’t been a good person. He had his hands soaked in the blood of Remus’ friends. If Remus hadn’t killed him first, Wilkes would have killed Remus. 

That was the thing about war-- everyone dies and everyone kills. To take a life meant sacrificing a part of who you were, even if the life you took was a Dark one. Wilkes had a girlfriend, Remus knew. A girlfriend who would bury her beloved at 19 years old. 

Remus didn’t think he would ever forget the way it felt to kill-- the burn at his palm with the lightning shaped flick of his wand, the scream as Wilkes was shoved backwards with the force of it, the crack of his head against the pavement. His friend stopping at his body, grief covered by the skeletal mask, before running after Remus with a newfound anger in his steps. 

His hands, Remus knew, would never be truly clean. No matter how hard he scrubbed at his fingers, how much bleach and peroxide he poured over his skin, he would never truly get rid of the souls taken by his wand. 

Sirius had found him, that night, polishing his wand at the dining table at three in the morning. All of the lights were off, just the soft glow of the halfmoon through the window. Remus had been crying, trying to scrub the fingerprints off of his wand as if it would get rid of the curse.

Sirius’ footsteps had been soft, loud enough that Remus would know he was there, but soft enough that he wasn’t a threat. Remus didn’t bother to look up until he felt Sirius kiss the top of his head gently. 

“Come to bed,” he whispered, and Remus closed his eyes. 

“I killed a man today,” Remus said, voice sounding alien even to his own tongue. 

Sirius put a hand to Remus’ shoulders, rubbing slightly. “I know,” was all he said. 

He didn’t try to excuse it, didn’t try to justify anything. This was war; they both knew the sacrifices that came with it. There was no point denying what either of them had done. 

“We had Potions together,” Remus whispered. “Sixth year.” 

“I know,” Sirius said again, voice hushed. He kissed Remus’ temple again, massaging at his shoulders as if it would relieve him of all the guilt.

Remus leaned into his touch. “I don’t think I can ever sleep again.”

“You have to try,” Sirius said. He reached over, gently taking the wand from Remus’ hand, letting him drop the polishing cloth. “Come to bed, Re.” 

“I’m coming,” Remus whispered. He felt a tear leak from his eye down his cheek, cold and salty.

Sirius pulled the chair out slightly, reaching his hand out for Remus to take. Remus took it, his palm slightly sweaty. Sirius didn’t seem to care, pulling him out of the chair and down the hallway. In Remus’ bedroom, he set the wand on the nightside table and made sure Remus got under the covers. He had turned to go, find sleep in the comfort of his own bed, but Remus grabbed onto his wrist as he turned away. 

“Stay with me?” 

Sirius swallowed, watching Remus with a careful eye. After a moment, he nodded. 

They fell asleep together, Remus curled into Sirius’ chest, the flashes of light running over and over again behind his eyes. It was war. People died and people killed and none of it was okay, but they had to sleep at night anyways. 

The last person Remus Lupin killed was a Death Eater by the name of Peter Pettigrew. 

There was blood and memory torn up all over that one, guts and secrets spilled over his wand and the curse. There was an anger and a regret there that had never been there with any of the other people Remus had killed. 

It had been justice, vindication. The final kill of a never ending war. But this was it. This was the death that would end them all. 

Dumbledore found them at the Whomping Willow. He came alone, as Remus had asked him to. He Apparated there, arriving with a crack and the slight stumble that came with landing. 

“Remus,” he said, eyes flickering between Remus, Sirius, and Peter’s body, lying still at the base of the Whomping Willow. “What in God's name happened here?” 

Remus looked up at him, suddenly all too tired. “I killed Peter Pettigrew, and I’ll go to trial for it. But Sirius is innocent.” 

“Remus,” Sirius whispered from behind him, shrunken into the shadows. 

Remus shook his head. He stood up, brushing the dirt off of his legs and facing Dumbledore. In the pale moonlight that seemed to burn his skin, Dumbledore looked like a ghost. Remus had had enough of ghosts lately. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Remus asked. “You knew they had switched Secret Keepers.” 

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. “I had no more idea than you did, Remus.” 

“Okay,” Remus said. He didn’t know how much he believed that, but it wasn’t worth arguing. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.” 

“There will be an inquiry,” Dumbledore told him. “I’ll have to arrest you.” 

“Arrest us both,” Sirius blurted out, moving to stand next to Remus. He put an uncertain hand on Remus’ shoulder, and Remus resisted the urge to lean on him. “We both killed him.” 

Dumbledore glanced between the two of them. “As you wish.”

Remus glanced up at Sirius. His eyes said, “Don’t do this,” and Sirius shook his head. 

“I’m not letting you take the fall alone,” Sirius whispered. Remus took a breath, then nodded. 

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore wrapped handcuffs around the both of them, and they walked back up towards the castle. It was a long and slow walk, and Dumbledore led them to a small cell at the top of the castle. Remus wasn’t sure what it was used for on a daily basis, but he also couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Dumbledore locked them in the cell, and Remus sat himself against the wall, closing his eyes. 

“It’s been a long night,” Remus said quietly. 

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed. 

He sat down gingerly next to Remus, close enough that Remus could hear him breathe, but far enough that they weren’t touching. Remus longed to reach out, feel Sirius’ hand, make sure that he was really there, that this wasn’t all a dream. He didn’t know if it would be a nightmare or a daydream, he didn’t know if he was quite sure that any good would come of any of this. 

“Did you hate me?” Sirius asked in a hollow voice. “While I was in Azkaban?” 

Remus thought about that for a moment, staring out into the dark of the cell. The shadows seemed to shift before his eyes, turning from dogs to wolves to rats. 

“No,” he finally said. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.” 

Sirius nodded, but Remus could tell he didn’t believe it. Remus watched as he closed his eyes, lips slightly parted as if breathing clean air for the first time. “For twelve years,” Sirius said slowly, “all I could think about was that I was innocent… I’m not anymore.” 

“I know,” Remus said quietly. “Neither of us are.” 

“No,” Sirius agreed. 

He opened his eyes, turning towards Remus. In the dark, his eyes seemed to glow. Remus stared back, trying to figure out what Sirius was thinking, but after a moment, he tore his gaze away. There was too much there, too much that was familiar and too much that was irrevocably different. 

“Do you ever… just wish you could forget it all?” Remus asked, his voice an echo, Sirius a cavern that Remus had never found an end to.

“Yeah,” Sirius admitted, the wind outside louder than his hoarse voice. “Every day.” 

They sat in the dark, re-learning the silence of each other. Remus closed his eyes, thinking about the last time he had seen Sirius. It was strange, listening to the quiet, shallow breaths beside him, compared to the seething madness he had seen at the trial. 

It was simple. It wasn’t even a trial, not really. It was Sirius, with a sentence already on his head before he had even been brought to the court from the cells of Azkaban. They all knew what would happen to him. The Death Eater trials had become more of a game than a legal system, like a reality show on the television, so everyone could see just how thoroughly the Ministry had won the war. 

Sirius sat on the stand, laughing and sobbing all at once, while Barty Crouch stood in front of him with a gavel and a stack of papers. There was no jury, just Crouch and his onlookers, all wanting to see the sentence of another vicious Death Eater. 

“You are being charged for the murder of Peter Pettigrew,” Crouch said, “and twelve Muggles with the Blasting Curse, as well as giving information about the location of James and Lily Potter and their son, which led to their death, in service to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” 

Sirius’ eyes were wild, his grin untamed. Remus could feel himself internally screaming at the sight, wanting to pounce, wanting to grab his shoulders and scream a thousand questions, why would you do this, and how, how did Remus lose all of his family in one night? 

“It was the rat!” Sirius yelled, and Remus could see blood spill from a crack in his lip where someone must have punched him. There was a black and blue spot by his chin, a bruise from one of the Ministry guards. James and Lily Potter had been loved, and their son even more so now. 

“Silence!” Crouch yelled, banging the gavel. 

Sirius had the gall, had the guts, to laugh. “The goddamn-- he’s smarter than you all! All of you!” 

“Evidence has been presented to the court by Albus Dumbledore that you were, in fact, the Potter’s Secret Keeper,” Crouch continued, ignoring Sirius. “Do you deny this fact?” 

Calming down, Sirius moved to complete stillness. “It wasn’t me,” he said, voice hard in a way that Remus knew meant he had finally broken. “I wasn’t the Secret Keeper.” 

“Would you consent to Veritaserum to confirm this and other facts?” Crouch asked, the frown lines at his face deepening. 

Sirius hesitated, a “yes” on his lips, but then he turned to the audience watching the trial. He blinked, seeming to catch Remus’ eye. The two sat there for just an instant, staring at each other. Do it, Remus wanted to scream, tell the world who you are, tell me who you are. 

“No,” Sirius said. “I won’t.” 

“This court,” Crouch said, voice echoing, “finds you guilty of all charges.” 

The roar of the onlookers was haunting, the visceral joy and celebration that every audience member in the court had expressed still echoed in Remus’ ears a decade later. Now knowing that Sirius was innocent, Remus couldn’t help but wonder how any of them could have been so cruel as to cheer. 

Sirius sat next to him, both of them staring into the darkness. Dumbledore had told them that Ministry officials would be there in the morning. There would be no preparation, no lawyer. They would present their story in front of the Wizengamot and hope for the best. 

“Why didn’t you take it?” Remus finally asked, voice hoarse. His throat was running dry and it had taken all night to get up the courage to ask it. 

“What?” 

“During your trial,” Remus clarified. “They offered you Veritaserum. Why didn’t you take it?” 

Sirius was silent for a moment. “I would have exposed you.”

“How?” Remus asked, frowning. He glanced over at Sirius. “How does that make any sense?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius said quietly. “They would have asked if I killed Peter, I would have told them he escaped as a rat, they would have asked how he was an unregistered Animagus, I would have said we all were, and we did it for you. You didn’t need the entire Wizarding world to find out you’re a werewolf. Things would be hard enough for you already. I figured I was doing you a favor.” 

“Oh,” Remus said. “Oh.” 

Sirius shrugged, the fabric of his ragged clothes shifting as he moved. “And I think… some part of me thought I deserved it. I was the one who told James to make Peter the Secret Keeper.” 

“You didn’t know,” Remus assured him. “None of us knew.” 

Sirius cracked a smile. “Well, they’re all about to.” 

Remus nodded, swallowing. Sirius had taken the bullet for him so many times, Remus wondered if they could ever break even. No matter how many things Remus gave up, he had a feeling that Sirius had already given up more. He wasn’t sure what that meant for the two of them, if that was even how a healthy friendship worked. But in these kinds of times, he thought, maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it just mattered that you had someone who cared enough to keep a secret. 

“Take it this time,” Remus said, voice stronger than he thought it would be. “If they offer the Veritaserum, I want you to take it.” 

“Even if it means exposing you?”

Remus nodded into the darkness. He wasn’t sure if Sirius was watching, wasn’t sure if he wanted him to be. “Yes.” 

Sirius didn’t respond to that, didn’t make any move to agree. Remus could only pray that he would do it. Sirius, however strong he was, needed someone to protect him just as much as Sirius wanted to protect other people. There weren’t enough people in the world, Remus thought, who wanted to keep Sirius Black safe. It had been a promise long ago that Remus would always be one of them. It was a promise he had broken a million times over, but he would stay true now. 

The night seemed to last for ages. With the shifting shadows, the darkness, the moon and then the sun rising and falling as the clouds moved. Remus fell asleep at some point, a deep, dreamless sleep, but he didn’t think Sirius moved once.

When he woke, Ministry guards were opening the doors. Sirius and Remus both stood up at their arrival, letting themselves be handcuffed again. Once off school grounds, they Apparated back to the Ministry, where Amelia Bones was waiting for them in the courtroom. 

“Remus,” she said, nodding at him as he was led into the courtroom and brought to a seat. “Black.” 

It was a different room than the original Death Eater trials had been, but Remus supposed that the Death Eater frenzy had long since passed. The Ministry would want to keep this quiet. Sending an innocent man to Azkaban wouldn’t look good on them. 

“Remus Lupin and Sirius Black,” Amelia read, “you’re being charged for the murder of Peter Pettigrew. Again.” 

Sirius covered a smirk, and Remus could have sworn that Amelia was rolling her eyes. She had been a year above them at Hogwarts, and Remus remembered her long suffering hours as a Prefect trying to keep the Marauders under some semblance of control even though she was from Hufflepuff and not technically responsible for them. But despite all of their antics, she had always been kind and fair. From what he had heard of her, she was still trying to right all of the mistakes Crouch had made. 

Amelia cleared her throat. “Mr. Black, can you explain to me what happened two nights ago in the Shrieking Shack?” 

“I killed Peter Pettigrew,” Sirius said, voice deadened, as if all the fight had suddenly left him. “He had betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort and I wanted revenge.” 

“Peter Pettigrew was already dead,” Amelia said, trying not to show any discomfort as Sirius said Voldemort’s name. “You killed him twelve years ago.” 

Sirius shook his head, and the chains at his wrists clashed against each other. “He faked his death. He cast the Blasting Curse and disappeared.” 

“And how, may I ask, did he disappear?” 

Sirius took a glance at Remus, and Remus nodded. “He’s an unregistered Animagus,” Sirius continued. “He turned into a rat and ran away, using the Blasting Curse as a distraction. I tracked him to Hogwarts this year, and was able to find him on the grounds.” 

There was a murmuring among the Wizengamot, people sharing notes and whispering something awful about Sirius, about the Black family, about how none of this could be real. And yet, there was some hesitation there. Peter’s body had been found, had been handed over as evidence, despite him having exploded into pieces twelve years ago. 

Amelia nodded, then turned to Remus. “Mr. Lupin, you are being charged for the same crime. How did you find Mr. Pettigrew?” 

“I was looking for Sirius,” Remus said quietly. Amelia raised an eyebrow and he cleared his throat before continuing. “I was looking for Sirius, because there were rumors he was at Hogwarts, and when I found him, he was confronting Peter. He explained to me the switch, and how he was innocent, and I believed him.” 

They had decided on their stories the previous night-- a watered down version of the truth, excluding everything that involved Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They would leave out the werewolf and the Animagi and the Marauder’s Map when they could, but if it came down to it, they would both submit to Veritaserum. It was what Sirius hadn’t had before-- someone to stand with him, to tell the full truth. 

“The switch?” Amelia asked, breaking Remus out of his thoughts. 

“Sirius was supposed to be the Potter’s Secret Keeper,” Remus explained, “but they changed it at the last minute, thinking that Voldemort wouldn’t ever expect it to be Peter. But Peter had been a spy for the last year or so, with none of us suspecting him.” 

Amelia nodded, then looked down at her papers. “Do you have any evidence to support this?” 

“His body,” Remus said, glancing at Sirius. “Peter’s body was given to the Ministry when we were arrested. If he had died twelve years ago, that couldn’t have happened.” 

“Witnesses?” Amelia asked. 

Remus glanced at Sirius again, and gave a slight shake of his head. “No.” 

“Anyone to testify on your behalf?”

“No,” Remus said again. 

It was their word against the rest of the world. But then again, hadn’t it always been the two of them against the rest of the world? Hadn’t it always been Sirius and Remus and fumbled kisses and broken promises and making up for lost time? Hadn’t those little memories always been the truth? 

“Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black,” Amelia started again, “do you confess to the murder of Peter Pettigrew?” 

“I confess,” Sirius insisted, “to the murder of a Death Eater.” 

“And do you find that the murder of a Death Eater is different than any other murder?” 

Sirius nodded, just once, and slowly. “This is war, ma’am. Peter’s death is the death to end it.” 

“The war has been over for a long time, Mr. Black,” Amelia said, but she looked like she might agree with him. 

“The person responsible for the deaths of twelve Muggles, James and Lily Potter, and numerous other Aurors was walking free,” Sirius said. “The war couldn’t be over while that was true.” 

“Peter Pettigrew had found himself a position close to Harry Potter,” Remus agreed. “If given the chance and reason, he could have killed Harry in an instant. Peter’s death ended the last hopes of Voldemort’s supporters. I know everyone here wants to protect Harry at all costs. It’s from that man you’re protecting him.” 

There was a muttering among the Wizengamot again, people turning and wondering, wincing at Voldemort’s name. Sirius nodded at him, as if wanting to reward that comment. It made something warm flicker in Remus’ gut, but he shoved it far, far away. 

Amelia touched her chin with her quill, thinking for a long moment. She stared down at Remus through her monocle, as if trying to see through him, find his secrets. Go ahead, Remus thought. He’s always been an open book. 

“Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black,” Amelia said slowly, “are you arguing that you committed this murder in an act of justice? In a fair and legal duel?” 

Remus and Sirius exchanged glances. They didn’t quite know how to read each other, not after all these years, but there was an old glint to Sirius’ eye that Remus found hauntingly familiar. 

“Yes,” Sirius said. Remus nodded. 

“Alright,” Amelia told him. “All in favor of acquitting the accused of all charges?” 

The next few moments passed in a blur. There was the shuffling of robes, or papers as people raised their hands-- guilty or not guilty or abstain or-- 

“Very well,” Amelia said, voice crisp. “Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black, you are free to go.”


	13. epilogue / upright lovers

The Sorting Hat took two minutes to decide where to put Remus. 

McGonagall called his name out, and he walked up the stairs to the rickety old stool and sat down. One of the legs wasn’t even with the other, and it shook slightly as he settled into place, his hands sitting awkwardly in his lap. 

The Sorting Hat mumbled for a few moments, unintelligible things that Remus suspected it was only saying to make itself look smarter. 

“Interesting,” the Hat said, “very interesting.” 

“What’s interesting?” Remus thought, wrinkling his forehead. 

“I sense a great bravery, a great determination,” it said, and Remus imagined a wizened old man stroking a beard that touched the floor. “But there’s also a loyalty there, yes, you would do well as a Hufflepuff.” 

Remus looked out to the four tables of students, all staring up at him. They were waiting expectantly, trying to size up what the little first year with scars on his arms and neck would be like. Logically, there was no way that they would know Remus was a werewolf just by looking at him, but Remus thought he could feel all of the signs burning on his skin. 

“You want this over with, don’t you?” the Hat said, and Remus winced. “Interesting, interesting. Do you consider yourself brave, Mr. Lupin?” 

“I don’t know,” Remus thought, shifting uncomfortably. The students with the golden yellow collars seemed to be smiling at him, but he couldn’t be sure. 

The Sorting Hat considered this. “I see a boldness, the will to do what’s best for other people-- very chivalrous of you. You’ve been taken care of your whole life, your parents moving around the country, keeping you safe and hidden… do you want to be something more than that, Mr. Lupin? Do you want to be seen?” 

“Yes,” Remus thought. It surprised him to think it, but suddenly, it seemed as if his life had a purpose-- he wanted to be seen, he wanted to be something more than the strange kid from up on the hill who disappeared on full moons. He wanted someone to see him for who he is. 

“Gryffindor it is,” the Sorting Hat said.

Remus grinned-- the house of the brave. He got up, finding his way to the table of students with scarlet ties, sitting next to a boy with unruly black hair and bright eyes. There was a space next to him and another boy, with dark hair and pale skin and twitching fingers, like he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Remus fit between them perfectly. 

Sirius, two decades later, nudged his shoulder slightly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“Our first day,” Remus said, looking over at him. 

Sirius was basking in the dark of the nighttime, and Remus thought oh-- oh this is why people think moonlight is so beautiful. Sirius, all pale skin and lengthy limbs, bathing in silver and not even noticing the way his skin seemed to shine and the dark of his eyes seemed to glitter. Remus bit back a smile, looking at Sirius looking at him. 

“At Hogwarts?” Sirius asked, turning away. “Merlin, that feels like centuries ago.” 

“It practically was,” Remus agreed. His bare feet dangled off the edge of the roof, where he and Sirius sat at one in the morning, overlooking the small Muggle town where their flat was located. Nothing terrible had ever happened there. “Tomorrow’s September 1st.” 

Sirius nodded. He took a moment, swinging his legs back and forth over the roof. “Do you ever miss it? Going to school?” 

“All the time,” Remus admitted. “Everything seemed easier then.” 

“I think it probably was.” 

Remus let out a breathy laugh at that, ducking his head. Below them, taxis and cars drifted by, lonely headlights lighting up the way home. Remus could feel Sirius next to him, and it took all of his self control not to move closer. He hadn’t been the same about touch, not since Azkaban, and Remus wasn’t going to push it further than Sirius was ready for. 

“Do you ever wonder about it all?” Remus asked. “Where things went so wrong?” 

Sirius shrugged nonchalantly, but Remus could tell there was a tension there that he was afraid of. “There’s not much use wondering. It’s not going to change anything.” 

“Would you change it? If you could?” 

There was a silence. Sirius nodded slowly, but he didn’t look over at Remus. Remus longed to see his face, he wanted desperately to be able to read the lines by his eyes, but they were unfamiliar. It seemed like every other movement was one that Remus could understand, but between those moments, Sirius was another stranger. 

“I wish everyone were alive,” Sirius said. “But maybe that’s selfish.” 

“I don’t know,” Remus said honestly. 

Was it selfish to want to stop mourning? He had gone through twelve years of grief wishing that none of it had happened, just for his own sake, not quite daring to think what the dead wanted. James and Lily and all the rest of the Order of the Phoenix had sacrificed their lives for a better world. But still, Remus sometimes wondered if all the grief was worth it. It had to have been, he told himself, however much he himself had given up for it, however much it hurt, it had to have meant something. 

“Fifth year,” Sirius said suddenly. He didn’t meet Remus’ eyes. “Around the end of the spring term. Do you remember?” 

“Gonna have to be more specific.” 

Sirius shrugged, looking down over the roof. He gripped the edge of the roof tightly, his knuckles paling with the effort of it. He was nervous, Remus realized, looking for something to hold onto, as if he were ready to fall over at any moment. 

“It was one of the warm days,” Sirius said. “James and-- and Peter went to Hogsmeade, but you and I stayed behind. We spent it by that tree by the Black Lake.” 

Remus nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I remember.” 

“You fell asleep in my lap,” Sirius continued, as if he hadn’t heard. He kept his gaze sharp over the edge of the roof. “I told you I loved you. I didn’t know if you heard me.” 

Remus swallowed. He remembered the sun on the backs of his eyelids, the dreary feeling of reading another chapter of “A History of Magic” while the water in the lake was shimmering like glass. He remembered Sirius gently running his hands through Remus’ hair, working slender fingers through all of the wind-tossed knots. He remembered closing his eyes, drifting off into sleep. 

“I thought I dreamed that,” Remus said finally. 

Sirius shook his head. He let go of the roof, stretching out his fingers. “You didn’t.” 

“Oh,” was all Remus said. He looked over at Sirius. “Did you?” 

“Love you?” Sirius asked. Remus nodded. “Yeah. I did.” 

Remus stared at the ground. A lone bicycle rider made her way across the pavement, slow and steady. Remus thought about all of the glances he had thrown Sirius over the years, waiting for him to catch one. He thought about all of the lingering touches and wondered if Sirius had ever wanted to hold his hand just a little bit longer. 

“Do you still?” Remus asked quietly. His voice was just another shooting star, another aching wish lost to the endless darkness of the universe. 

Sirius paused, holding his own hands tightly. He took a deep breath. He didn’t know words anymore, not the way that he did before Azkaban, Remus had noticed. He wasn’t confident with them, didn’t know how to turn a phrase and make it work for his tongue. He used to lie and spin it like a truth, but now all he could do was tell the truth and hope it seemed like a lie. Remus, after years of studying the masterpiece that was Sirius Black, could see through all of it. 

“I still,” Sirius said carefully. “Still love you.” 

“I’m not who I used to be,” Remus said, as if Sirius could ever have forgotten. 

Sirius shook his head, dropping his hands to his lap. “I’m not who I used to be either.” 

“You don’t laugh as much,” Remus said, as if that was the only difference that mattered. 

“I’m scared all of the time,” Sirius whispered. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands hanging out of place. “It’s hard to laugh when you’re scared.” 

Remus nodded. He picked at a string at his sleeves, feeling the cool almost-fall air leak through the holes in his sweater. “That’s when it’s most important to laugh. When you’re scared.” 

“So wise,” Sirius said, smiling to himself. “Were you always this smart?” 

“Probably not.” 

Sirius chuckled, ducking his head again. Below them, a street light flickered off and on again. In the dark, Remus could see Sirius flinch at the sudden movement, then regain his composure as the light came back on. The stars stared down at them, a thousand prying pairs of eyes asking questions Remus didn’t have the answers to. 

“I’m scared too,” Remus said finally. “I think I’m scared of losing you again.” 

Sirius swallowed, the movement visible in the pale light. “I can’t promise you won’t. There are whispers, in the dark, Re. People are saying he’s coming back.” 

“I know,” Remus said. He said it in a way that somehow sounded braver than he felt. “I’m scared of it. But there’s nothing else to do but… but wait.” 

“We’ll be ready,” Sirius tried to say, but it came out more choked than honest. 

“Yeah,” Remus said quietly. A moment of silence passed between them, and Remus thought maybe he could hear Sirius begin to panic, his heart stuttering. Then, in a rush, he murmured, “Sixth year. Quarter moon. We sat up by the Astronomy Tower and you asked whose side I would be on, when the war came. I don’t know if you remember that.” 

“I do,” Sirius whispered. “I was so scared that night. The war didn’t feel real until then.” 

“I said I would always fight with you, and you didn’t say anything back,” Remus said, seeing the night play out like ghosts in his head. The idea of fighting together, of staying by each other seemed so much more weighted than it should have. It was war, and fighting on the same side, keeping each other safe, was its own form of desperate love. 

“I didn’t,” Sirius agreed. “I should have. Did you mean it?” 

Remus nodded, a short, slow nod. 

“Remus,” Sirius asked in a whisper, finally looking up from the ground and over to Remus, meeting his eyes. His lips were slightly parted, and Remus thought he could see the ghost of a breath in his exhale, and he knew that Sirius understood everything. “Do you still love me?” 

Remus swallowed, and wondered what it would be like not to be haunted anymore. He didn’t think this would get rid of all his ghosts, but it was a start. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I still.” 

“Everything’s changed,” Sirius said, looking away at him. “Don’t fall in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore, Remus. Ghosts don’t make good friends.” 

Remus nodded, trying to count the cracks on the sidewalk. He wanted to tell Sirius that he knew that, tell him of all the things he had been dreaming in the past twelve years, tell him that he knew ghosts better than anyone.

“I’d like to know who you are again,” Remus finally told him. “Who I am. Now that everything’s changed.” 

“I’d like to meet you again,” Sirius said, his words more tender, more vulnerable than anything he had whispered to anyone in the past decade. 

Remus straightened his back, taking a deep breath. He looked over at Sirius, pulling all the broken memories apart and finding a blank slate. Maybe that was the bravest thing he could do in the face of all his grief-- start again. 

“Hi,” Remus said. “My name is Remus Lupin.” 

Sirius cracked a smile, turning to face him and sticking out his hand. “I’m Sirius Black. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Remus shook his hand firmly, the touch electric in the darkness. The moonlight hit their skin, seeming to turn an introduction into a new oath. If there were anything that defined the two of them, it was forgiveness. It was the timeless ability to meet again and again and turn each other’s heartbreaks into something new. It was the betrayal and the vindication that came afterwards. Forgiveness was a fragile, beautiful thing, and Remus wore it well. 

“I think we’re going to be very good friends,” Sirius said. 

“Yes,” Remus said. In the darkness of the moon and the light of Sirius’ gaze, he smiled. “Yes, I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's a wrap! i hope you enjoyed this journey as much as i enjoyed writing it. thank you endlessly for reading, liking, and commenting-- i cannot express how much i appreciate it♡


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